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MEMORIALS 



JAMES PATERSON. 



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Bxintzii iox llje ti$t of J^ruubs, 



GLASGOW: 

M'CORQUODALE & CO., 90 MAXWELL STREET. 

3IDC0CLVIII. 






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205449 
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P R E F A C E 



A FEW sentences will suffice to explain the object 
and intention of this volume. As the title page 
intimates, it is designed to present some memorials 
of James Paterson. When those most nearly and 
most deeply affected by his death had recovered 
somewhat from the first pressure of grief that weighed 
upon them, their attention was naturally turned to 
the manuscripts and letters he had left behind him. 
Here they found a large amount of literary material, 
which, in their own judgment, as well as in that 
of personal friends, qualified to form an opinion, 
possesses such a degree of merit, and is pervaded 
by such a healthful and fine spirit, as to Avarrant, if 
not call for, preservation. This conviction, along 
with the fact that he was greatly beloved by a large 
circle of friends, awakened the desire, which ripened 
into a purpose, that a selection should be made 



n? 



IV PREFACE. 

from these papers, and, by means of the press, put 
into a permanent form, and preserved for the family ; 
and that a brief memoir should be prefixed. 

This accomplished, it was thought that the follow- 
ing desirable objects might be gained : — Is^, There 
would be a fuller and more fitting tribute to the 
memory of the dear departed than would otherwise 
be obtained. 2nd^ The memorials presented in this 
form could not fail to be useful, and, in the best 
sense, educational, to the surviving and junior members 
of the family. And 3rc?, While younger relatives 
and friends derived benefit from them, they would 
prove a source of relief and soothing gratification 
to the afilicted parental heart. 

It is believed that some of the papers inserted, 
apart from their relative value, would stand a favour- 
able comparison with much of the current literature 
of the times. • Nevertheless, it has not, by those 
immediately interested, been thought fit to deviate 
from the course indicated, viz., to limit the circulation 
to relatives and personal friends. 



May, 1858. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

MEMOIR, 1 

LETTERS, 35 

ESSAYS:— 

Time and its Value, 83 

Personal Usefulness, 91 

Instinct, 104 

Military Genius, 119 

Human Progress, 131 

The Being of Goi>, 138 

War, 147 

Personal Accountability, 159 

True Morality, 171 

MISCELLANEOUS :- 

Oration, 193 

Review — Works of Fiction, 199 

Missionary Address, 212 



MEMOIR 



M E M O I K . 



James Patersox, son of George Paterson and IMary 
Stark, was born at Hall, Bonny Bridge, Parish of 
Falkirk, on the 27th April, 1834. In 1837 the family 
removed to Glasgow, where James, at the age of five 
years, was sent to a private school, in which he re- 
ceived the rudiments of his English education. Plis 
teacher, we remember, spoke very favourably of his 
mental aptitudes, and still more emphatically of his 
fine moral quahties. In the year 1843, when he was 
nine years of age, he joined the High School, and was 
placed under Mr. D'Orsay and Dr. Low, the former 
the English and the latter the classical teacher. Under 
these approved teachers he became a good English 
scholar, and acquired such an acquaintance with the 
ancient classics as fitted him for college. At the age 
of fourteen he entered the Glasgow University, and 
joined the junior Humanity and Greek classes, taught 
by Professors Kamsay and Lushington. Under these 

B 



.i 



Z MEMOIR. 

distinguished men he passed through his classical 
course with approved diligence, and with credit to 
himself; but, notwithstanding his fine powers, the 
tendencies and tastes of his mind were not such as to 
secure for him any marked pre-eminence in classical 
literature. At this period, too, as we shall subse- 
quently see, other and higher themes began to occupy 
his mind. 

In jSTovember, 1851, he joined the- Logic class, 
taught by Professor Buchanan. Those most interested 
in his mental progress were especially desirous that he 
should have the benefit of this class, whatever might 
be his subsequent course. Not only the nature of the 
study, but the efficient and admirable manner in which 
it is taught by Professor Buchanan tend unmistakeably 
to draw out and test the industry and mental stamina 
of the student. Having been previously connected 
with some juvenile societies, and having been accus- 
tomed to letter- writing, he was not unpractised in 
composition ; and it was expected, if he gave his mind 
to the business of the class, that he Avould make a 
creditable appearance. But no one was quite prepared 
for the admirable logical aptitudes he speedily evinced, 
the high place he took in the class, and the success 
that crowned his industry and talents at the close of 
the session. His letters written at this time are re- 
plete with testimonies of the great interest he took in 
the study. To an intimate friend we find him writing 



MEMOIR. 3 

thus: — ''I still continue my favour for the logic. It 
is indeed the most interesting class I have been in ; 
and though I have considerable quaking in looking 
forward, especially to what is to come in the present 
month, yet I hope by a little diligence to wend my 
way comfortably through the syllogistic -mazes." 
Again: — ''I feel the effects of competition perhaps 
too much in the logic. Whenever there 's a good 
question given, and I think I can answer it, I have an 
irresistible desire to do so. Perhaps this is carrying 
the thing to excess ; but I do think that a little inno- 
cent striving may not be injurious, but otherwise, 
tending, as it does, to give confidence to the wavering, 
and to stimulate the lagging." 

The competition in his division of the class was 
keen and close. One of his principal riv^als was a son 
of the late Sir William Hamilton, Professor of Logic 
in the University of Edinburgh, a student of great 
promise, taking high honours in all his classes. But 
even in this competition he took the highest place, and 
at the end of the session, by the suffrages of his fellow- 
students, received the first prize. The product of the 
session — a large amount of manuscript which he has 
left behind him — evinces how fully he mastered the 
business of the class, and bears testimony alike to his 
dihgence, and to the high qualities of his intellectual 
powers. Not a few of the essays might have been 
given in proof, and have only been kept back to make 



4 ^MEMOIR. 

way for others having a wider range of interest. The 
closing exercise af the session is the oration, which 
must not exceed eight minutes in the reading. As the 
subject of it is modern, the ideal question interesting, 
and the manner of treatment skilful, it has been added 
to the collection of essays given. 

The period had now arrived when it seemed proper 
for him to come to some decision respecting his future 
calling. He was in peculiar circumstances. He was 
the eldest in the family. His father in his large 
business much required that kind of assistance which 
in some respects he only could render. He gave clear 
indications of possessing business powers of the highest 
order ; nor, with his fine nature, could his devoted 
aifection for his father fail greatly to influence him in 
his decision. With likings and leanings towards a 
higher calling, it is not surprising, while all felt the 
responsibility of definitely advising him, that he should 
have had difficulty in coming to a final decision. 

The state of his mind regarding this important 
matter may be seen from a letter written by him to the 
friend already referred to, about three months after the 
close of the logic session. He says, '^with regard to 
my prospects and intentions, I think I may hope, in the 
course of a week or two, to get away to the north. I 
have a strong desire to get a month or six weeks in 
Aberdeen, with my uncle John, where I should find 
both leisure and advanta2:es for systematic and deter- 



MEMOIR. 5 

mined study. Reverend Mr. goes to Orkney- 
next week, and expects me with him, as that was the 
arrangement when my uncle (Dr. P.) was south. 

" I have not, I think, let you precisely understand 
what are my resolutions regarding my future course. 
I liave long, you know, felt myself in a strait betwixt 
two — Whether should I choose the ministry or resolve 
to follow out my father's business? After, I trust, due 
consideration of the bent of my mind, my abilities, 
likings, prospects, position, influence, &c., I feel as if 
the latter were the course to which I am directed. As 
it is a solemn and responsible thing to come to a 
decision, which ought to be final, I have felt unwilling 
to close a book which, when closed, I trust I shall never 
have occasion to re-open. I have a wish, you know, 
whatever I afterwards do, to attend the moral philoso- 
phy. In these circumstances I made a proposal to 
my father, to which he willingly acceded, viz., to allow 
me to finish my college course, after which, if nothing 
special occur to direct my thoughts otherwise^ it is my 
resolve to lend my energies to business. Do not think 
me egotistic when I say that I might have felt this an 
easier matter to decide before attendino; the lode. 
Last Sabbath was our communion. My sister and I 
for the first time took our seats at the table — a most 
solemn duty and privilege ! May I be kept from evil, 
and be enabled to live a life becoming the gospel." 

He spent part of the summer of 1852, as he thought 



6 MEMOIK. 

he would, in Orkney and Aberdeen, dividing his time 
between recreation and ethical studies, as a pre- 
paration for next session of college. In November 
he joined the Moral Philosophy class, under Professor 
Fleming, being then in his eighteenth year. With 
what interest he entered on the study, and with what 
success he prosecuted it, we have the evidence before 
us, in a pile of well-arranged and carefully prepared 
manuscripts. As the middle and junior divisions of 
the logic class were here thrown into one, the com- 
petition was widened, and rendered in some respects 
more testing. Yet, by the suffrages of his fellow- 
students, at the end of the session he was again de- 
clared entitled to the first place, and received the first 
prize accordingly — the senior students from twenty 
years and upwards being properly ranked in a divi- 
sion by themselves. 

Thus successfully did the subject of these notices 
terminate his academical and more formal educational 
career; and thus did he reach the more immediate 
summit of his literary aspirations. Meanwhile he 
retained connection with juvenile societies for mutual 
improvement in speaking and essay writing. In these 
societies he took a warm interest and a leading place. 
His acknowledged talents — his turn for practical man- 
agement — his unselfish dispositions — his fine sympa- 
thies — his mild manners — and his gentlemanly spirit 
and bearing, all conspired to secure for him a high place 



MEMOIR. 7 

in the esteem and affection of all his associates. Few 
young men have had a larger circle of friends, or 
derived a greater amount of pleasure from youthful 
fellowships. Nor must we omit to notice his talents 
for public speaking. These were confessedly of a very 
high order. Endowed naturally with a clear, musical 
voice, he had given attention to its cultivation, and 
had the full command of it. This, with a natural, 
sprightly, and graceful manner, and with an admirably 
ready and sure memory, gave high promise of his 
capabilities for pubHc oral address. This aptitude 
showed itself very early in his powers of imitation, in 
which his joyous nature allowed itself sometimes to 
indulge. 

Having decided to follow a mercantile profession, 
he now set himself to acquire the necessary knowledge 
and experience. Towards the end of summer, his 
health not proving very robust, it was thought ex- 
pedient that he should rusticate for a few months, and 
that he should go to the country in the neighbourhood 
of Aberdeen, where he might at once get a little 
practical insight into a branch of his father's business, 
and have his constitution invigorated. His sojourn in 
this locality he enjoyed much, and spoke frequently of 
the kindness of those Avithin whose sphere he had been 
brought ; nor did he fail to leave behind him a most 
favourable and a cherished sense of his estimable 
qualities. 



8 MEMOIR. 

From this scene of rural activity he returned ap- 
parently in good health. During the winter, in 
addition to his duties in his father's office, he attended 
a class for chemistry, and employed other means of 
improvement. But the period of his life had now 
arrived when it was thought necessary for him to give 
his time and energies to business somewhat decisively; 
and he did .so accordingly. Nor was it long till it 
became manifest that his business powers were of a 
high order. His ready apprehension of principles — ^his 
power to acquire a knowledge of details — ^his accurate 
memory — ^his excellent judgment — ^his undeviating in- 
tegrity — and his winning manners, were felt and owned 
by all with whom he came into close contact. 

Having reached this point in the history of his outer 
life, let us go back and look, by some of the openings 
affi)rded, at his inner man. While the essential and 
vital principles of religion are ever the same, the 
forms and degree of their development are modified 
by circumstances. Constitutional temperament, men- 
tal culture, moral and religious training, domestic 
influences, youthful fellowships, early restraining 
mercy, and still more, infant regeneration, each and 
all of them affect to some extent spiritual experiences, 
and to a large extent the forms and appearances of 
spiritual development. From the notices given, it 
Avill be seen that in the case of James Paterson the 
combination of circumstances naturally had been re- 



MEMOIR. 9 

markably favourable. Apart from any positive re- 
ligious development, everything about him, mentally 
and morally, was so attractive and so lovely, and to 
human eye so faultless, as to render it certain that by 
the God of all providence he had been peculiarly 
favoured, and as to awaken the sweet hope that even 
from infancy gracious influences had not been with- 
held, and that these had to do in forming his fine 
nature, and making him what he was. And now as 
to the manifestation of those right and holy principles 
which are the perfection of worth and beauty in man, 
we shall do little more than select some of his own 
utterances, and give extracts from his own letters. 
Loving and loved, he had many attached friends, 

and among these was Mr. James , with whom 

for several years he maintained a regular and close 
correspondence, and with whom, on sacred subjects, 
he appears to have communicated more freely than 
with anyone else. With little disparity of age, and 
with much in common in the elements of their nature, 
their friendship was intimate and endearing, and their 
intercourse unreserved accordingly. Their correspond- 
ence commenced early, and, as it now appears, turned 
much on the subject of vital religion. His friend 
having taken his degree, and received a government 
appointment, went out on the medical staff to the 
Crimea ; and it was after his return home that the 
family were favoured with the letters from which the 



10 MEMOIR. 

extracts are taken, and of the contents of whicli thej 
had previously no knowledge. They have a value and 
an interest now which they could not otherwise 
have had. 

The following are from letters written by him when 
he had passed his sixteenth year but only by a few 
months, and are therefore to be regarded as the 
thoughts of a youth of that age. In a letter dated 
29th October, 1850, we find him writing: — 

"My Dear James, 

" The reason you assigned in your last why 
many refuse to enter on a religious life is one of very great 
force. Not only are very many prevented from taking the 
way of life because they are walking in the midst of heathen 
darkness ; and not only has man a great enemy in his own 
breast, and all the more dangerous, that it is ' an enemy 
within the citadel;' but Satan is everpv^here * going about 
like a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour/ It is 
not, however, always as the avowed foe and fierce assailant 
that he comes. He is also the cunning snake, which, with 
all the persuasive earnestness of the most ardent friendship, 
presses the acceptance of the forbidden fruit, and it is thus 
that he becomes our most dangerous foe. The next reason 
I would assign for the indisposition of man to follow after 
holiness is, the hold which the world has on his affections, 
especially in reference to the young, who know the world 
only by the picturings of fancy. Its enticements are alluring 
and dangerous. Many a young man has plunged headlong 
into its pleasures, thinking thereby to obtain happiness, and 



MEMOIR. ] 1 

not till these pleasures liaA'e produced satiety and loathing 
does he see this. Alas ! how often is it then too late ! His 
hahits and tastes are confirmed, and he finds now, when he 
fain would do so, that he is unable to return to the paths 
of rectitude. But these feelings are only the fruit of expe- 
rience ; and many who know what must be the ineritable 
result, yet, finding the world's pleasures 'sweet to the taste,' 
heed not the warning, that they will prove 'bitter in the 
belly.'" 

The next letter from which we shall make an 
extract is dated 12th November, 1850: — 

" Mt Dear James, 

" I sit down, after a hard night's study, to 
answer your last letter. . , . But to recur to our topic. 
AYe hare seen that many, wanting the knowledge of the 
way of life, live in darkness — that the heart of man being 
by nature • deceitful above all things and desperately wicked,' 
very many pursue the downward course, regardless of every 
inducement to check them — that Satan goes about, not only 
showing himself to be the ' roaring lion,' but also under the 
mask of favour and friendship ; and, lastly, we have thought 
of the world as a mighty obstacle to the coming of Christ's 
kingdom. A consideration of these things is surely sufficient 
to point out the need of watchfulness. Our greatest enemies 
are those which least appear to be so. How alluringly 
dangerous are the gilded temptations of the world ! How 
insidiously must the evil one ply us in our hours of self- 
security I and, above all, how much to be guarded against 
are the promptings of our wicked hearts ! Taking home 
the question with which we set out, it is of the most 



12 MEMOIR. 

momentous importance to you and to me to fix our own 
state. We must all (it is an awful thought) appear before 
the judgment seat of Christ, and receive one of two sentences. 
Oh ! may we meet on His right hand." 

The next letter bears date November 26, 1850 : — 

" My Dear James, 

" I am not sure that you should have left it 
with me to choose a subject ; but since you have, I will 
make a remark or two on Prayer. In the Scriptures 
Christians are often addressed on this subject. ' Pray 
without ceasing ' is one of the injunctions of the Apostle 
Paul. By this it is impossible that we are required to be 
ever at the throne of grace uttering the language of suppli- 
cation ; but there is such a thing as a praying spirit, or, 
as I understand it, a feeling of humility, trust, constant 
dependence, and gratitude toward God for all we are and 
have. It is impossible to be a subject of the Great King 
without cherishing such a spirit, and without often prostrat- 
ing ourselves at the throne, making our requests known 
unto God, and supplicating forgiveness for our many sins. 
* Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,' and, just as the 
body is sustained by the natural air, so the spiritual life 
must be preserved by the life-giving and sustaining influence 
of communion with the Most High." 

As we advance in the perusal of these letters we 
find that they gradually assume a more interesting 
and methodical form on the chosen subject of prayer, 
and afterwards on that of the atonement. Instead, 



MEMOIR. 13 

therefore, of proceeding ^nih extracts as we have 
been doing, we shall give the remaining letters entire 
at the close, so that they may be perused either now 
or afterwards, it being kept in mind that they properly 
belong to this part of his early history. These letters 
give us to see the impressions made on his mind on 
the highest of all subjects, even at this early period of 
his life, No change is made anywhere either in the 
thought or expression — natural and acquired accuracy 
rendering this unnecessary. Before, however, leaving 
this part bearing on religious character, we cannot 
refrain from giving a few extracts of a more practical 
and personal kind that are found here and there 
blended with comments of a more general nature : — 

"Every action of our life is no doubt seen by His omnis- 
cient eye, and every word we utter heard l)y Him ; but in 
prayer we, as it were, court a closer attention, and invite, in 
a special manner, His ear to listen. How fearful, then, to 
think of having doubts of His ability to hear, and (if we ask 
aright) of His readiness to answer. Oh ! for more earnestness 
and firmness of faith in offering up our petitions to God. 
Thus only will we be able to say vvith confidence, * The Lord 
hath heard the voice of my weeping. The Lord hath answered 
my supplication.' . . . But have we not reason to be 
thankful that these blessings (which, in comparison of all 
others, are alone worth the asking) may be sought with 
certainty and confidence. 'Blessed be God that hath not 
turned away my prayer.' ' Bless the Lord, O my soul ! and 
all that is within me be stirred up to bless and magnify His 



14 MEMOIR. 

holj name.' Oh ! that these fj^elings may influence us in our 
approaches to God! The more communion we have with 
Him, the more peace will we have, and the happier will be 
our lives. We will thus become more useful, both passively 
and actively — useful passively, that is, to have the soul holy 
and beautiful, reflecting the image of God, and thus manifest- 
ing His power and goodness — actively useful in the highest 
sense, that is, to devote our efforts to the souls of others." 

Again, we find him writing : — 

"We rejoice to believe that none who have ever trusted 
Jesus, exercising faith and love towards Him, will be for- 
saken by Him at last. In our most serious moments there 
is very great danger of sinful thoughts arising in our 
minds. These thoughts may appear to us harmless at a 
superficial glance. But let us think whether God can regard 
them so, and how we ourselves will feel when they are 
disclosed to a congregated world, and all that hideous 
idolatry of self is exposed." 

Again, he writes : — 

"An impatient feeling of superiority and want of forbearance 
too often characterise us in coming into contact with others. 
It arises very much from a proud and unsubdued heart, and 
it is to the cross that we must have recourse again, to get 
our hearts broken and melted by the sight of a dying and 
crucified Saviour. Christ alone has the power, and He alone 
has the will, to grant such great requests as those we need 
to present ; and, contemplating at what a price He has 
brought us salvation, may we make it our endeavour to 
make our calling and election sure, and strive to obey our 



MEMOIR. 15 

Lord and Master in all things, becoming changed into the 
same image ; for He was a glorious pattern/' 

Again : — 

" We have great reason to feel thankful that we have 
been spared, and furnished with such precious opportunities 
for preparing to spend a useful life ; and still, in looking 
back, I find that there are very many things done, in my case, 
that require the putting forth of a mercy that must be great 
indeed to overlook and pardon, *The mercy of the Lord 
is in the heavens, and His faithfulness reacheth unto the 
clouds.' .... Many a one who is now in the kingdom 
of God, and has seen His gloiy, can attest that He is possessed 
not only of the power, but of the will to do so (pardon sin), 
and He has debaiTcd none. How, then, should we strive 
that we may reach the heavenly Jerusalem ! " 

And again : — 

" How time flies ! My seventeenth birth-day came round 
yesterday. You and I are speeding onward to the age of man- 
hood, and require to prepare ourselves for after-life. But how 
very short is even the utmost limit of life on earth ! If we 
ever hope to enjoy a life after we pass, as we must, from this 
passing scene of things, we must prepare for it now. It is a 
most solemn fact that our destiny for eternity rests on the 
settlement of our accounts with God in so short a space as is 
assigned to us here. But then we have to bless Him that all 
he requires may be the work of a moment : and it is just a 
look to the cross to have the hard heart melted, and the 
demon self humbled and put dovm, and God exalted to the 
place in our heart's love to which He is entitled. Nothing will 



16 MEMOIR. 

make up to us, either in this world or the next, the want of 
God's love. Without it we cannot be happy — with it we are 
happy and safe for ever." 

How fine and touching are these reflections on the 
completion of his seventeenth year ! How direct and 
satisfactory these personal references! And all the 
more so when we take into account the great moral 
accuracy by which from childhood the subject of them 
was distinguished, and his extreme habitual reserve 
in saying anything about himself on these greater 
matters. What he did say, therefore, may, with 
the greater confidence be received as the genuine 
workings of the heart, graciously moved by the 
" powers of the world to come." Self-inspection, 
humility, contrition, faith in the crucified One, are 
here seen to be exercises to which he was no stranger; 
while the throne of grace was a theme with which 
he was earnestly seeking for his soul's good to be 
familiar, and then, too, at a time of temptation, when 
the young mind is in great danger of being almost 
exclusively taken up with literary and classical 
pursuits. These letters show that his views of 
divine truth were both intelligent and practical; 
and we cannot say less of them, particularly those 
giving an exposition of the atonement, than that 
they are not only clear and satisfactory as far as 
the treatment of the subject goes, but are, in many 



MEMOIR. 17 

respects, very admirable. How relieving and com- 
forting that we have been enabled to put such things 
on record, as illustrative of his religious character ! 
A gracious Providence ordered and designed it so, 
and His hand in this we must own. There is love 
here — the love of a Father, revealing in a way not 
expected the lineaments of His own child, which He 
will give back again to bereaved mourners matured 
and perfected in the skies. ''We shall be satisfied 
when we awake with his likeness." 

We must now proceed to the sad and sorrowful part 
of this memorial. In April, 1855, his health began 
visibly to decline, and indications of swelling in the 
limbs showed themselves that awakened serious appre- 
hensions. An eminent physician in Edinburgh having 
been consulted, prescribed what tended to allay the 
swelling, without, however, having any favourable 
effects on the general health. It was then decided 
that he should withdraw from business for a season ; 
should go north with his uncle. Dr. P., and try the 
effects of a local change and bracing exercise. He 
had often visited Kirkwall, and into this arrangement, 
every way acceptable to him, he cordially entered. 
Bet^axt his uncle and him there existed a remarkably 
strong mutual attachment. Scarcely a parent's heart 
could go out more warmly towards a fondly cherished 
son on the one hand, nor a son be more knit in loving 
confidence on the other, than was evinced here. It is, 

c 



18 MEMOIR. 

therefore, not too mucli to suppose that this intercourse 
and intimacy exerted a strong influence in the 
formation of his character — scripture example and 
precept being enforced by the powerful element of 
love drawn both from nature and grace. 

As regards the state of his health on reaching the 
north, we shall allow him to speak for himself. 
Writing to his friend, he says : — 

Kirkwall, ^th July, 1855. 

My Dear James, 

Your very interesting and satisfactory letter from 
Scutari was forwarded to me at Aberdeen on my way north- 
wards here. I may as well explain at present that the reason 
of my absence from home is, that the symptoms of weakness 
which were beginning to manifest themselves before yon left, 
subsequently increased so much that I was for some weeks 
almost wholly confined to the house, and subjected to a course 
of medicine vrhich very much reduced the system. Since 
leaving Glasgow I sojourned in company with my Kirkwall 
uncle at Aberdeen, and then at Invergordon. We came on to 
. Orkney a week ago. I trust I am now on the way of regaining 
strength, though digestion is still veiy languid, and the symp- 
toms you remarked still remain. I have purchased a horse, 
and design to take as much riding exercise as I can stand. 

By the time this reaches you will no doubt be 

busy in your new hospital. I was struck to hear that there 
were so few invalids in Scutari hospital when you wrote ; but 
many of the wounded are not sent there now ; and, doubtless, 
ere this you have a different tale to tell. The success of the 



MEMOIR. 19 

seventh June, and the failure of the eighteenth are our latest 
information with regard to active operations. But no doubt 
ere this reaches you the attempt on the MalakhofF and Redan 
will have been renewed. The death of Lord Raglan has 
produced quite a gloom throughout the country. His suc- 
cessor is as yet very much unknown to fame, though an old 
officer ; and he will not have the confidence of the country till 
he prove himself worthy of it. When is the struggle to cease ? 
I am sure I am heartily tired of it ; and the general tide of 
feeling is setting in in the direction of peace. Will even the 
taking of Sebastopol settle the matter ? I fear not. I often 
think of you during this warm weather. How hot it must be 
with you ! Have you been exempted from illness ? Be sure 
you study every means in your power to promote health, and 
especially beware of overwork; and that you may be long 
spared in health and vigour, to be useful to the poor victims 
of wounds or disease that may come under your care, is the 
earnest wish and prayer of your attached friend, 

James Paterson. 



He continued several weeks in Orkney, taking as 
much exercise on horseback as he could stand ; yet 
it became sadly apparent that the symptoms of 
weakness, instead of diminishing, were from day to 
day on the increase. This state of matters filled his 
uncle and relatives ^Yith the deepest solicitude, who 
agreed that he should lose no time in coming South. 
Being the communion season, his uncle could not 
leave with him, but he wrote out the symptoms 
most minutely from his own observation, and com- 



20 MEMOIR. 

mitted them to James's care, to be submitted to one 
or two of the most eminent in the medical profession 
in Aberdeen. On his reaching Aberdeen — where, 
as in Kirkwall, he had a home — this was done under 
the auspices of his uncle John. The two medical 
men who ivere consulted concurred fully as to the 
nature and dangerous character of the complaint, 
and the mode of treatment, generally, that ought to 
be pursued. His father and mother here met their 
beloved invalid, to ascertain the issue of the con- 
sultation, and to have him removed to Loanhead 
Cottage. His sad prostration greatly afflicted them ; 
nor them only, but his uncle also — and the leave- 
taking at the railway train was very affecting. 
James was seated at the far end of the carriage — 
his father and mother had taken their seats — his two 
junior brothers w^ere on the platform on either side 
of their uncle, under whose care they then Avere. 
All deeply felt; but dared not by word or deed 
avow the feeling. He, too, realised the scene. It 
was too much for him. Looking out for a moment 
with a wistful glance on those he was to leave behind, 
his manly heart visibly heaved, and for the first 
time he turned away w4th moistened cheek. This 
was the last time his uncle caught the softened glance 
of that fine quick eye that had so often greeted him in 
loving and gladsome mood. They proceeded as far 
as Stirling, w^here they remained over-night. Next 



MEMOIR. 21 

day they completed their journey by means of car- 
riage and horse conveyance, without much apparent 
inconvenience to the invalid. Here everything was 
done for him that parental solicitude and affection 
could do — medical advice, confirmed by the most 
eminent of the Glasgow Faculty, being followed out 
with scrupulous care. 

His uncle from Kirkwall, yielding to the dictates 
of varied intensified feeling, speedily followed him 
in his journey to the cottage, that he might ascertain 
how he had stood the travelling, aid his distressed 
father in consultation, and be satisfied that all was 
done that human agency could accomplish. And 
here it was, lying on that bed on which he himself 
had often lain, that he sa^v for the last time him 
who, from his nephew, had become his companion, 
and who occupied a place in his affections scarcely 
lower than that of the most loved human being on 
the earth. 

He remained at the cottage for several weeks, and 
was able occasionally to take a mild drive out of 
doors, &c., the variations of health being such as at 
one time to inspire hope, and at another time to fill 
the mind with painful apprehension. 

Towards the close of autumn it was deemed ad- 
visable to have him removed to some more genial 
locality. He had all along expressed a wish to make 
trial of the water cure, and felt much disappointed when 



22 MEMOIR. 

\ 

told that it was not altogether suited to the nature of 
his complaint. Dr. Paterson of Rothesay and others 
being consulted, were of opinion that hydropathy in his 
case might be partially used with probably good effect. 
Accordingly, after remaining a brief space in Glasgow, 
he proceeded, accompanied by his father and mother, 
to Rothesay, and took rooms in the vicinity of Dr. 
Paterson's establishment. Here again the same alter- 
nations of extreme debility and occasional rallying 
showed themselves ; yet, on the whole, the change 
seemed to prove beneficial, and tended rather to inspire 
than to depress hope. The ordeal he had to pass 
through in these changes was exceedingly trying. 
Yet he bore all with that unrepining gentleness of 
spirit so characteristic of him. 

Here he received many letters from kind sympathis- 
ing friends ; and, among others, one from his esteemed 
pastor, the Rev. Mr. M'Gill, of whose kindness and 
care he had a very lively sense, and whose ministerial 
accomplishments and fidelity he much admired. In 
his pastor he had a true and affectionate friend, and to 
sit under his excellent ministry was one of his most 
valued privileges. 

While in Rothesay he received a visit from his 
uncle Alexander, to whom he was warmly attached. 
The parting interview was trying and touching, under 
the sad presentiment that it might be the last time they 
would meet on earth. 



MEMOIR. 23 

The treatment of Dr. Paterson seeming to prove 
beneficial, it was thought advisable that he should 
leave the rooms he occupied, and go into the establish- 
ment. What were his views and feelings on doing 
this, and when left alone, we learn from a letter 
written to his friend, the last he received from him : — 

Rothesay, 2Qth Nov., 1856. 

My Deak James, 

Your very welcome letter of the 6th inst. reached 
me in due time. Though, properly speaking, I was in your 
debt, I had an idea that hearing of my illness would induce 
you to forego ceremony. I heard of your ague, and was feel- 
ing anxious about you. I am veiy glad the visit to the Crimea 
last month did you so much good, and I trust you will now 
find yourself quite acclimated. I have been in Rothesay for 
upwards of a month, under treatment by Dr. Paterson, and a 
week ago I came to live at his cold water establishment. 
He is a thoroughly experienced, cautious, and tnistworthy 
man, and seems to understand my case. I am a good deal 
better under the treatment. The great drawback at present 
is the cold. The thermometer was at freezing point yesterday. 
It is ver}' trying for me, as I am particularly susceptible of 
cold, and am obliged to keep my room a good deal. The Dr. 
says that is the only thing that makes him anxious ; and during 
the worst of the season it may be necessary for me to go home, 
and confine myself to a couple of rooms at a moderate tem- 
perature. I should have been in a warmer climate over the 
winter, but was afraid of the travelling. The disease is ver}- 
trying and tedious. I have now had long opportunity to learn 



24 MEMOIR. 

the lesson of submission and humility it is designed and fitted 
to teach. I have been too often disappointed to expect a 
speedy recovery now ; but with the blessing on the use of means 
I have great hopes of a gradual and permanent cure. I have 
felt very desponding, and unreasonably unhappy at times in 
the view of my lost health. My desire is to feel more resigned 
and cheerful under the rod, and to use it as a blessing. I am 
writing this epistle on my knee by the fire, which must be my 
excuse for scribbling. I am much interested to hear of your 
arrangements for the winter. You boast of warm weather; but 
I suppose you have been enjoying a second summer, and now 
the winter must be setting in with all its intensity. I hope 
you are thoroughly housed. You do not tell me much about 
your routine. Be sure to give me all the minutiae in your 
next. . . . Write me very soon, and believe me, 

My Dear James, 

Your very afiectionate friend, 

James Paterson, 

The cold weather now setting in led to the resolution 
to leave Rothesay for a season, and to return to Glas- 
gow, where, under the family roof, artificial means of 
warmth might better be applied. The removal did not 
seem to be attended with any injurious consequences. 
It was not long, however, before symptoms of serious 
relapse showed themselves, in not only great prostra- 
tion of strength, but swelling in the face, &c. 

Alas ! alas ! All the eiforts that skill and love could 
put forth, and all the attentions they could devise, 



MEMOIR. 25 

could not arrest the progress of the fatal malady. He 
was now under the presiding affectionate and watchful 
eye of his mother. She and his sisters closely attended 
him, read to him, and ministered to his wants. Of 
their devotion to their charge it is difficult rightly to 
speak. Fondly loving him, their quick discernment 
anticipated his every want. With a self-sacrifice 
which such affection only could sustain, by night and 
by day they watched over him, their solicitude and 
tenderness being increased by that extreme prostration 
that ultimately rendered him incapable of exertion of 
any kind, mental or otherwise. And still less can we 
speak of his love to them in return, and of his sense of 
their services. One or two manifestations of these 
were of a kind, and marked by a tenderness, never to 
be forgotten by the family. 

The '^ last enemy" began now to send forth his 
harbingers, and to give unmistakeable signs of his 
approach. In the beginning of the week before his 
death, his disease took the form of bronchitis, which 
latterly rendered swallowing very painful, and caused 
great difficulty in articulation. It now became appa- 
rent that the disease was making rapid progress, and 
towards the end of the week his strength was greatly 
reduced. That occasional stupor which had all along 
been a marked feature of the disease became more 
and more frequent and prolonged. During the last 
three days of his life he had only short intervals of 



26 MEMOIR. 

consciousness, and these were seasons of great suffer- 
ing. Nevertheless, when friends around engaged in 
prayer, putting himself in the attitude of devotion, he 
seemed to follow with deep earnestness ; and once, 
when a question somewhat more pointed than usual 
was put to him, as to his reliance on the Saviour, his 
distinct answer was, " I hope so." During his last 
interval of consciousness, he endeavoured several times 
to speak, but even the ear of love could not so distin- 
guish as to allow his thoughts to be caught. Shortly 
before the last season of stupor came on, however, he 
fixed his bright eyes upwards, and whispered, ''Now, 
now — come, come." On being asked, " Is it the Lord 
Jesus, James?" he added, ''Quickly, quickly," in a 
tone so clear and distinct as to take those around by 
surprise. 

He soon after relapsed into unconsciousness, con- 
tinued to breathe for several hours, and at half-past 
seven on Tuesday morning, 29th January, 1856, he 
expired, aged twenty-one years and nine months. 

The funeral was large, and the religious service 
appropriately conducted by the Rev. Mr. M'Gill. The 
long line of mourning carriages slowly wending their 
way to the High Church Necropolis formed a spectacle 
that memory will long recall. There, in this " city of 
the dead," Avere deposited the earthly remains of one 
who had run a brief yet honourable and exemplary 
career — who had won his way to many hearts — and 



MEMOIR. 27 

respecting whom we have the unspeakably consoling 
hope that he was found in favour both " with God 
and man." 

Regarding his conduct as a son we can scarcely 
trust ourselves to speak. His bearing was not menial, 
but a pattern of manly, confiding, dignified respect. 
This was especially the case in reference to his mother, 
who never sought to exact from such a son the out- 
ward forms of submission. She trusted everything to 
his right feeling and good judgment, and was never 
disappointed. A high place in her esteem he could 
not but occupy, and closely entwined around her heart 
he could not but be. In addition to all that he was to 
her personally, he was of great service to her relatively. 
Wisely and well did he second her efforts, and those 
of his father, in training the younger members of the 
family. His influence over his younger brothers was 
remarkable. It much more nearly resembled the in- 
fluence of a father than of a brother. His word was 
law to them; and, proceeding from that fine com- 
bination of judgment, gentleness, and affection, Avhich 
distinguished him, it could scarcely fail to be so. 

With his father, being latterly associated with him 
in business, he came into close and constant contact, 
and by this contact hardly can it be doubted that, 
beyond all other influences, his general character was 
moulded. Language can scarcely express with suffi- 
cient strength their mutual love and confidence. 



28 MEMOIR. 

Deeply did James Paterson love his father, and deeply 
did his father love him ; nor would it be easy to say 
whether the paternal or filial affection was the stronger. 
They were of one heart and one soul. It is not sur- 
prising, therefore, that his father, under a sense of his 
loss, and in the paroxysm of his grief, should, as his 
eyes were closed, have exclaimed, " Farewell, my dear 
boy, till the resurrection of the just. Very pleasant 
hast thou been to us in thy lifetime. My boy, my 
sweet boy ! whom can I love as I have loved thee ! " 
and should again subsequently have expressed sym- 
pathy v^ith such exclamations as these — "My son, 
mine honour !" " Such pity as a father hath, like pity 
the Lord showeth to them that fear him." " What pity 
must that be ! " But Christian fortitude, imparted and 
strengthened by a living Saviour, can sustain the soul 
under the heaviest load. 

Why is all this? Who can fully answer? But 
" what we know not now we shall know hereafter." 
" All flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the 
flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower 
thereof falleth away, but the word of the Lord endureth 
forever." 

Enough has been said in these notices, and 
especially enough has been said by himself, to allow 
a fair estimate to be formed of him, and to allow the 
younger members of the family, if they are spared, 
to see in future years what their eldest brother was. 



MEMOIB. 29 

Were the elements of his character gathered up and 
combmed, we should have a rare picture of youthful 
excellence presented to us. But instead of allowing 
love to attempt this, or to linger longer, it may be 
safer and better to close Avith the reminiscences of 
friends. 

The first is an extract minute of one of the societies 
of which he was a member : — 



••We record the deep regret with which we have heard 
of the death of Mr. James Paterson, one of our youngest 
and most effective teachers. In this mysterious event we 
acknowledge the hand of God, who doeth all things well. 
While we naturally expected a more lengthened career of 
usefulness from one so young and talented, and heartily 
inclined to our Sabbath School work ; yet we would bow 
to the behest of the Great Disposer of life in thus striking 
down our friend on the threshold of manhood, and summon- 
ing him to a higher service. By his education and natural 
ability he was well fitted to take a foremost part in our 
Sabbath evening exercises. His judgment and caution were 
calculated to be of gi'eat assistance to us in forming our 
decisions ; while his natural dignity and gentleness won 
the respect and sympathy of all. We rejoice greatly to 
know that those truths which he delighted to tell to others 
were his support in a dying hour, and that he fell asleep 
on the bosom of that Saviour whom he had ever commended 
to the young. As we have parted with fellow- labourer? 
before, so we part with our friend now. in the sure hope 
that when, through the grace of our Saviour, we stand beyond 
death and the grave, we shall meet with him and those 



30 MEMOIR. 

gone before him, in that deathless land where there are no 
farewells. And, also, we would seek to learn from this 
bereavement the urgent necessity of doing the work of our 
day with all our might, of mingling less with the pleasures 
and pursuits of earth, and manifesting more that we are 
citizens of an immortal empire and children of the living 
God. 

"And, further, we desire in this manner to sympathise 
with the bereaved family, and commend them to that Father 
who is better than many sons, and that Eriend who sticketh 
closer than any brother." 



An esteemed friend and brother in the ministry 
wrote Dr. Paterson thus : — 

"Among my interesting reminiscences in Kirkwall was 
your nephew — that boy so beautiful, so sprightly, so charming 
in dispositions and manners, as to render him one of the most 
prepossessing youths I ever met. How was my heart stricken 
when I heard last year that he was dead ! And how deeply 
did I join in the sorrow which must have weighed down yours, 
and the hearts of his parents. And yet, why mourn so sadly ? 
If the information I received is correct, he was prepared for 
the kingdom, and entered it through much tribulation. As 
he was loved, those who loved him should rejoice that he 
has gone to the Father. Enough for us that Christ has the 
keys of hades and of death, and that he is the agent of such 
events." 



A valued friend of his own, also in the ministry, 
on his death wrote to his father as follows : — 



MEMOIR. ^ 31 

ZOth January^ 1856. 



" My Dear Sir, 



*' Though not unexpected, the news of James's 
death came upon us with a heavy stroke. The chamber 
of mourning is sacred ; but the threshold may be crossed 
by the truly s}Tnpathising. And on this ground I claim to 
be admitted to Aveep with them who weep. The loss you 
feel so deeply is one that will be widely felt, for he who 
has gone from amongst us had entwined himself around 
many hearts. As you may be aware, he and I were not 
so intimate as to be bosom companions — were not so closely 
knit as in other circumstances we might have been ; for at 
our time of life the disparity of a few years in age makes 
a wide interval. We were just beginning to know each 
other, and now I cannot help expressing to you the ad- 
miration I had for James. Intellect combined with heart 
is the happiest of unions, and in him I saw an expanding 
mind linked to a warm and true soul. There was no one 
who did not respect his talents — all loved his goodness. 
Gentleness, artlessness, high integrity, were conspicuous in 
his life. And above all — and what a consolation is the thought 
— real piety shone forth and shed its mellowing influence on 
all he was and all he did." 

What follows is from the pen of his beloved pastor, 
the Rev. Mr. M'Gill :— 

" I very promptly obey the kind suggestion, for it falls in 
with an impulse of my own heart, to put on record a few 
sentences in memory of my dear young friend. My recollec- 



32 MEMOIR. 

tions embrace the whole of that brief life, with the exception 
of a few years of its childhood. In the pastoral class, in the 
missionary committee, in the relaxation of home, at the sick- 
bed and the death-bed, I was led to observe that maturing 
character with deepening interest. I cannot therefore feel 
as if I were putting forth the obtrusive hand of a stranger, in 
seeking to plant one or two fragrant memories on that early 
and honoured grave ; besides, to do so gratifies my friendship, 
counting him, as I continue to do, among mj friends ; while 
it gratifies my sympathy with those who still love him under 
a dearer name. I find it pleasing even to think of that 
erect, youthful, gentlemanlike mould of outward man that 
belonged to him ; and especially of those expressive features, 
with their aspect of thoughtful gentleness, lighted up with 
the lustre of that dark and penetrating eye. To a stranger 
it would scarcely, I think, have suggested surprise, to have 
been pointed to him and told that he had carried the highest 
honours in two of the philosophy classes of his university. 
This circumstance indeed will be accepted by all who can 
judge in the matter, as establishing the fact of his possessing 
talents of a sterling order. Yet this distinction is very far 
indeed from being uppermost in the thoughts of those who 
really knew him. 

^'In regard to mental qualities, I judge that a clear and 
vigorous intellect was in him the presiding power. The ease 
and precision with which he perceived a subject, gave 
such promptitude to his decision, and such clearness to 
his expression, as made you feel you were in the presence 
of a thinker. I have known him, when in age and appear- 
ance scarcely more than a boy, discussing in a prepared 
address a wide practical subject, so as to thrill a large 
assembly : the effect being due mainly to the simple power 
of clear statement and felicitous arrangement ; sustained 



MEMOIR. 33 

in the delivery by moral fervour and self-possession, and 
unaccompanied by a single instance of mere juvenile efflor- 
escence. 

" With regard to moral qualities, I cannot but regard that 
erect bearing of the outer man, with its aspect of gentleness, as 
the fit symbol of uprightness within, at once scrupulous and robust. 
Hence, when necessary, his modesty and benevolence did not 
prevent the utterance of that moral indignation, against what 
was mean or wrong, without which a character wants an essential 
complement. From various circumstances, and especially fi'om 
a native manliness, carried, I doubt not, to the extreme of un- 
due reserve in the expression of his deeper feelings, it may be 
difficult to say how far the marked uprightness I allude to was 
due to nature, and how far to grace. No doubt it was refer- 
able to both. His Christian life seems to have dated from his 
very early days, and must therefore have been interwoven with 
the entire growth of his mind and heart. On the day following 
his " seventeenth birth-day," we find him writing : " It is just 
a look to the cross to have the hard heart melted, and the demon 
self humbled and put down, and God exalted.'^ In an earlier 
letter he had written of communion with God as fit to make us 
useful, not only actively, but ''' passively ; that is. to have the soul 
holy and beautiful, reflecting the image of God." It is instructive 
to put these fine sayings in juxtaposition. Such principles of 
self-discipline, brought to bear upon a mind in which there 
existed, natively, a fine balance and proportion, could not fail 
to result in an early maturity and striking symmetry of parts. 
Such keeping between clear intellect and the quality justly 
denominated heart, especially as combined with cultivation, is 
very rarely to be met with in one so young. Hence a peculiar 
bitterness in our lamentation over such early maturity, when 
it is arrested by early death. Such a life may seem to shallow 
reason, like some vessel marred and broken in the making : or 

D 



34 MEMOIR. 

like some exquisite instrument of music which, after a few 
thrilling pieces have been performed on it, is jangled, broken, 
and laid aside. But faith sees the blessed solution of this 
mystery, as reason cannot ; and the solution is, that service to 
God begun on earth and interrupted here is transferred to 
heaven. The life of a promising young Christian, removed in 
mid-time of his days, is, in God's sight, a completed life, and 
not a fragment. It is not the broken pillar, pointing mourn- 
fully and reproachfully to heaven. It is rather a foundation 
on which grace builds a glorious though unseen structure in a 
region higher than the skies. Had our young friend belonged 
for a few more years to time, we w^ould have been saying — 
and why may we not say of him, though now belonging to 
eternity : — 



And thou art worthy! full of power 
As gentle, liberal-minded, great, 
Consistent ; wearing all that weight 

Of learning lightly, like a flower.' '"■ 



LETTERS 



LETTERS 



Glasgow, 9th December ^ 1850. 

My Deak James. 

I received your letter as usual, last week. 
I am glad to see tliat you think the topic * a suitable 
one ; and I hope we may be benefited by the examin- 
ation of it. You remarked in your last, that in 
drawing near God we should be duly impressed with 
a sense of his greatness. Why? Was it not He that 
created man, and that provides for him all his means 
of sustaining life? Is it not He that rules the 
warring elements, and that regulates the motion of 
the earth ; and that causes the sun to give light and 
heat by day, and the moon to take its place by night ? 
In short, is it not He who governs the universe with 
its countless worlds, many of them in size more 



♦ The topic referred to is " Prayer," which he had selected, as noticed in 
the Jlemoir. 



38 LETTERS. 

than equal to our own, while they appear but as 
specks in the sky ? " Great is the Lord and 
greatly to be feared ; He also is to be had in reverence 
of all them that are about Him," But before we can 
regard Him with reverence, another feeling must come 
in besides a sense of His majesty. We must be 
impressed with a sense of His goodness. God's good- 
ness is no doubt manifested in the works of nature, 
and in His beneficent arrangement for the support of 
His creatures ; but it is by the light of revelation 
alone that the great act of love to fallen man, which 
is matter of wonder to the holy angels, and which 
will be the theme of everlasting song to the redeemed 
of men, is disclosed. And those alone who have 
experienced in themselves the blessedness of the gift 
of Christ can rightly appreciate God's goodness. 
Then, since a sense of the goodness of God is a 
necessary accompaniment of acceptable prayer ; and 
since this can only be obtained by a personal interest 
in Christ's mediation, how important that we have our 
sins cleansed away by his righteousness. Are not 
these beautiful lines ? 



" There is a foimtam filled with blood, 
Drawn from Immanuel's veins ; 
And sinners plunged beneath that flood. 
Lose all their guilty stains." 

What I have said leads me to remark, that in all 



LETTERS. 39 

our prayers we must have Christ before us. No 
prayer can be acceptable to God that is not through 
him. He interposes between God and us, and suffered 
the penalty of the broken law that His justice might 
be satisfied, and that with it mercy to man might be 
combined ; and since he has done all this, it is through 
him, and none but him, that we can get pardon and 
acceptance with God. I hope you will continue this 
in your next. 

My Blackstone examination has not come round 
yet. You may address to 14 Canning Place, instead 
of the yard now. I hope to see you soon ; mean- 
while 

I am, 

Yours affectionately, 

James Paterson. 



Glasgow, Ith January, 1851. 

My Dear James, 

We have now, if you recollect, spoken of 
four things which enter into the offering of acceptable 
prayer. As these are apt to go out of mind, it may 



40 LETTERS. 

be as well, before going fartlier, to make a short 
summation of them : — 

1st. It must be presented with reverence and awe. 

2nd. With a deep sense of the goodness of God in 
the temporal mercies which He has bestowed and 
continues to us ; and, chieflj, in giving His own Son 
to die the accursed death of the cross, that we might 
live. 

Srd. In the name and for the sake of Jesus, by 
whose intercession alone our prayers can come before 
Him with acceptance. 

Ath. With faith. How often is the heart tempted 
to forget the reality of God's presence in prayer. 
Every action of our lives is no doubt seen by His 
omniscient eye, and every word we utter heard by 
Him; but in prayer we, as it were, court a closer 
attention, and invite, in a special manner. His ear to 
listen. How fearful, then^ to think of having doubts 
of His ability to hear, and (if we ask aright) of His 
readiness to answer ! Oh ! for more earnestness 
and firmness of faith in offering up our petitions to 
God. Thus only will we be able to say with con- 
fidence, '' The Lord hath heard the voice of my 
weeping, the Lord hath answered my supplication." 

Dth. In order that prayer may be acceptable, those 
blessings must be sought which He has promised to 
bestow, or which He sees will be for our immortal 
well-being — for things, as expressed in the Shorter 



LETTERS. 41 

Catechism, agreeable to His will. We can never 
go wrong in asking spiritual blessings. God has 
told us here to ask and we shall receive ; and, if we 
receive not, it is because we ask amiss. To temporal 
desires we should give a subordinate place, leaving it 
to Jehovah himself to decide as to their propriety. 
Did not the man Christ Jesus leave us a w^onderful 
example of humility and submission in this respect? 
In the Garden of Gethsemane, he said, ^' Father, 
if it be possible let this cup pass from me ; never- 
theless, not my w411 but thine be done." But have we 
not reason to be thankful that those blessings (which, 
in comparison of all others, are alone worth the 
asking) may be sought with certainty and confidence. 
" Blessed be God that hath not turned away my 
prayer." " Bless the Lord, my soul ! and all that 
is within me be stirred up to bless and magnify His 
holy name." Oh ! that these feelings may influence 
us in our approaches to God ! The more communion 
we have with Him, the more peace will we have, 
and the happier will be our lives. We will thus 
become more useful both passively and actively — 
useful passively, that is, to have the soul holy and 
beautiful, reflecting the image of God, and thus 
manifesting His power and goodness — actively useful 
in the highest sense, that is, to devote our efforts 
to the souls of others. 

Friday afternoon, part of Saturday, and yesterday 



42 LETTERS. 

afternoon I devoted to my essay, which is now 
finished. You will see, from a remark above, in 
Avhat sense we may regard usefulness as the highest 
object of life. I have given it a new title however, 
— " Usefulness — its requisites and motives." 

I am, yours, &c., 

James Paterson. 



Glasgow, 20^A January, 1851. 
My Dear James, 

I received yours last night in due course. 
You ask how my aunt is. I daresay I forgot to 

mention in my note to that I went home 

w^th her as far as Greenhill on the Saturday, that 
is, eight days ago. Her head healed much sooner 
than w^e expected, leaving very little mark, and her 
arm was also doing very well. 

• ••••••.•a 

Perhaps we may now go on to consider some of the 
reasons why we should pray to God. And, Ist^ I 
would remark, we ought to pray because we are poor. 
We are naturally poor now, and poor in prospect. 



LETTERS. 43 

We are houseless, and exposed to the storm of divine 
wrath. Every moment we, as it were, offer defiance 
to God, by trampling on His commands and making 
our unrenewed hearts our guide. But, though God 
forbear for a time. He will not always keep back His 
hand. We are told that He is " angry with the 
wicked every day," and the gathering storm will one 
day burst forth in awful vengeance. We are naturally 
poor, too, in the sense of being clothed in rags. We 
must be adorned with the white garment of Christ's 
i-iirhteousness, because " our own rio,hteousnesses are 
as filthy rags." With much greater likelihood might 
the beggar, filth-bespattered and abominable, expect 
to be permitted to pay homage to the sovereign, in 
company with the beautifully- dressed and gay courtier, 
or the man spoken of in the parable, be permitted to 
partake of the marriage feast without the wedding 
garment, than the poor sinner to obtain a hearing 
clothed in his own righteousness. The natural man 
is poor, too, in being without food or spiritual nourish- 
ment ; at least, he starves himself in refusing the food 
provided. He is also heavy laden with a burden of 
guilt. But provision has been made for all these 
cases. Is the poor sinner houseless? He is invited 
to take covert under the wings of the Almighty. Is 
he exposed to God's wrath? "Kiss ye the Son lest 
he be angry." " Blessed are all they that put their 
trust in Him." Then, there is a robe provided for 



44 LETTERS. 

him, even the righteousness of Jesus, Is he without 
sustenance? '^Blessed are they who do hunger and 
thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled." Is 
he borne down under his guilt? ''Come unto me all 
ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give 
you rest." These things show man's poverty, and 
consequently what infinite need there is for prayer. 
Besides, man being naturally poor now, he is poor 
in prospect. Instead of being an '' heir of G od and 
joint-heir with Christ," he is an heir of eternal wrath ; 
and surely that is poverty. But we have reason to 
rejoice that God has set before His people the prospect 
of a heavenly Jerusalem, where all will be rich 
indeed; and not only so, but fi^eed from all earthly 
alloy, perfect bliss shall be conjoined with the riches, 
and all there will join in the song : '' Worthy is the 
Lamb that was slain, to receive power, and riches, 
and wisdom, and honour, and glory, and dominion, 
and strength." 

Give my kind regard to , and tell him I 

expect his letter to-morrow. 

I am, 

My Dear James, 

Yours affectionately, 

Ja]\ies Paterson. 



LETTERS. 45 

^rd February, 1851. 

Mr Dear Ja^ies, 

I have not been at college since Thursday. 
We get the last Friday of each month ; and we got 
to-day, too, being Candlemas. I could have found it 
in my heart to come through and spend Sabbath with 
you, had it not been our communion. We had Mr. 

assisting. He gave us a very fine sermon 

last night on the company and condition of the 
redeemed in glory. 

The third division of our subject is one of great 
importance. Without coming before God with suitable 
subjects of prayer, we cannot understand aright the 
sentiments which ought to influence us in our devo- 
tions. I do not know how you intended to treat this 
part of our subject ; but, in this letter, I shall just 
mention one thing for deliverance from which we 
ought to pray — the power of sin within us. The heart 
naturally is averse to all that is holy and good: it is 
in the bondage and under the dominion of sin. But 
then it is a willing slavery ; and the attempts (if 
attempts are made at all) to be set free from this 
spiritual bondage are feeble and insincere. Such is 
the case ; but we must not conclude that, when an 
individual becomes a Christian, he is therefore entirely 
freed from the influence of sin within him. We 



46 LETTERS. 

rejoice to believe that none who have ever trusted 
Jesus, exercising faith and love towards him, will be 
forsaken by him at last; but then, such is the depravity 
of fallen human nature, such the deceitfulness of the 
heart, and such, even with the good, the readiness to 
yield to temptation, that many departures from God, 
and too much conformity to the world, is the conse- 
quence. Even the apostle felt this, and acknowledged 
that " when he would do good, evil was present with 
him,'' and that there was a " law in his members 
warring against the law of his mind," which was often 
bringing him into the captivity of the '^law of sin 
which was in his members." Since such is the deceitful 
and dangerous nature of sin within us, it shows us, I 
think, how great is the necessity for strict and scru- 
tinizing searching of motives in our actions. In our 
most serious moments there is very great danger of 
sinful thoughts arising in our minds. These thoughts 
may appear harmless to us at a superficial glance ; but 
let us think whether God can regard them so, and 
how we ourselves will feel when they are disclosed to 
a congregated world, and all that hideous idolatry of 
self is exposed. I will not conclude this part at 
present. 

I am exceedingly sorry that I should so far have 
overstepped our agreement as to allow it to be 
Thursday ere my letter is sent. I wrote half of it on 
Monday, and was interrupted; and since, I have not 



LETTERS. 47 

had time to finish it. I hope you will excuse this 

once. I was much gratified to learn from 

that you had been speaking at a meeting, and that 
you did well. It is a pleasing thought that our 
correspondence on this subject may have contributed 
to your better understanding it, and thus to the benefit 
of some to whom you spoke. I hope that much good 
may be done next week at the meetings which your 
brother is to address. 

I am, 

Yours affectionately, 

James Paterson. 



Glasgow, lllh Feb., 1851. 

Mr Dear James, 

It is now past midnight, and consequently 
not a veiy seasonable hour to w^rite you ; but as I 
have promised to go down to Greenock to-morrow 

morning wdth a companion (cousin to , 

w^ho died in Jamaica) who is going to New York, I 



48 LETTERS. 

am afraid that if I put off ^vriting you to-night I may 
not accomplish it to-morrow. Excuse this piece of 
paper, as it is the only bit I have. 

You say, let us examine the Lord's Prayer. In a 
right spirit it must be a profitable exercise ; therefore, 
let us endeavour to get an insight into its meaning and 
depth. It commences with a sentence which is highly 
calculated to give us an exalted idea of the character 
of God. He is said to be " Our Father," good and 
tender, and it is added, " who art in heaven." The 
being who inhabits heaven, nay, whom the heaven of 
heavens cannot contain, condescends to dwell with 
man upon the earth, and to be his father. Could we 
conceive every grain of sand in the earth swelled into 
the magnitude of a world, and thrown out to its 
proper distance, then might we have an idea of the 
greatness of creation, and of the infinitude of God's 
condescension. ^' What is man," &c. 

The next clause, " Hallowed be thy name," implies 
on the part of the suppliant a deep sense of divine 
majesty, and a desire that this sense may spread to 
others, that the whole earth may be filled with the 
glory of God. Hallowing God's name implies the 
ascription to Him of blessing, and honour, and glory, 
&c., just as if on earth had been begun the song that 
is to end, or rather to be perfected, above : — '' Holy, 
holy, holy. Lord God Almighty;" and "Salvation, and 
honour, and glory, and power unto the Lord our 



LETTERS. 49 

God." Again, speaking of the second j^erson in the 
Godhead, '^Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, to 
receive strength, and riches, and honour, and glor}", 
and power, and wisdom, and blessing." 

*' Thy kingdom come." Here is an answer to the 
question — For what things ought we to pray? We 
are requked to entreat God for the success of His 
kingdom on the earth. Formerly we inquired into 
some of the causes of the slow spread of the Messiah's 
kingdom ; and we saw that it was very much the 
result of man's own conduct. Notwithstanding of 
internal drawbacks, we are free moral agents, and 
therefore responsible for our actions. Personal effort 
is required both in respect of our own salvation (not in 
the way of helping it on by good deeds or self- 
righteousness) and that of others. If, therefore, we 
ask God that His kingdom may come in men's hearts, 
and leave it there, ^\dthholding indiAddual exertion, our 
petition will be in vain, and our prayer but mockery 
of God. 

You say nothing of your meetings. Kind regards 

to . I expect a letter. I am sorry for the 

ugly bit of paper, but I have no other. 

I am, 

Yours affectionately, 

James Paterson. 

E 



50 LETTERS. 

Glasgow, 10^,^. March, 1851. 

My Dear James, 

We have now come to the consideration 
of that part of our Lord's Prayer which relates to 
temporal blessings — '* Give us this day our daily 
bread." We are apt to be taken up too much with 
those things which relate merely to our present 
comfort and happiness, and to neglect those which 
are of more vital consequence ; not only because they 
relate to God, but also because they are fraught with 
deeper importance to ourselves. In minding time we 
forget eternity. For this reason, then, as well as for 
that far more important one, that the interests of 
Jehovah are paramount, has Christ instructed us, 
first, to ask God to glorify himself; then, that the 
interests of His kingdom should be advanced, and that 
His will may be done on earth as it is done in heaven, 
that we may be enabled to ^'live a life becoming the 
gospel." And now, and thus situated, we are taught 
to say, '' Give us this day our daily bread." There 
are various circumstances which make this an appro- 
priate and important petition for us to offer. Firsts 
We are unworthy of the least of God's mercies, and 
consequently ought not to receive temporal bounties 
as a matter of right or of course, without either asking 
God to bestow them, or thanking Him for them. 



LETTERS. 51 

Secondly^ The comforts of this life are conducive to 
health and happiness, and furnish the opportunities for 
a closer walk with God. How often do we find misery 
combined with poverty ! How very often does poverty 
and want construct the door and lift the latch for the 
entrance of crime ! We read of the poor man, Lazarus, 
who, at death, was received into Abraham's bosom, 
and of the rich man, who, dying, found himself in the 
place of torment; but we do not therefore conclude 
that poverty means virtue, or that riches is another 
name for vice. No ! Abraham himself, in whose 
bosom the formerly poor man lay, was a man '' rich 
in this world's goods." Here comes in another reason 
why we ought to offer up the petition of which we are 
speaking — viz., riches, or temporal possessions, and 
power are means by which Christ's kingdom may be 
extended. The greater a man's possessions are, the 
greater generally is his influence. His example is 
more readily followed, and what he says and does will 
probably have more weight Avith it than would be the 
case with those inferior in station. Then, again, 
money is a means by which the Gospel must be pro- 
claimed, and those who have most, when the heart is 
in the right place, can afford to give most ; and thus, 
with God's blessing, they may do much for the cause 
of truth. 

How quickly the past Aveek has gone! It seems but 
yesterday since I was spending a happy hour or two 



52 LETTERS. 

with YOU. I am at my work again — Greek and 
Mathematics — and I am reading for an Essay on 
Athens. I wrote on Thursday, from which you would 
see that I got safely home, and found all well. When 
you write, mind the woman who had the operation for 
cancer. I feel interested in her. Kind regards to 
and . 

I am, &c., 

Your affectionate friend, 

Jaimes Paterson, 



Glasgow, March 31, 1851. 

My Dear James, 

I was not, for the reasons I gave you, 
able to write you last week. I delayed till to-day, 
expecting time, because I am persuaded our writing 
on such subjects will be of no avail without it ; 
but even now I find that Homer sets up an 
opposing claim. For once I will resist, even at the 
risk of a castigation to-morrow. 



LETTERS. 53 



In your last you took up tliat part of our Lord's 
prayer, ''Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our 
debtors." You showed how great was the mercy 
and kindness of God, in that, though we were debtors, 
and even whilst our debts, that is our sins, were 
accumulating, he was contriving a plan whereby we 
misfht be enabled to solve and discharo^e them. You 
showed how great the request we made in presenting 
the petition. It was to render such a prayer, 
coming from us, acceptable, that Jesus Christ suffered 
the ignominious death of the cross ; and it is to it 
we must look if we want peace, and forgiveness, and 
happiness. We may sometimes feel unhappy and 
ill at ease with ourselves ; and perhaps may not see 
any external cause to which we can assign this. 
I doubt not the real cause is a want of fliith, a want 
of looking to the cross, which is, as you said, a 
panacea for all soul -diseases. If we could realise 
and feel this more, we would both be more happy, 
and be led to see Christ's condescension, and the 
efficacy of his interposition. We would be able to 
say with something more than mere words, '' Though 
the earth be removed, yet will I not be afraid." 
'' My heart is stayed in perfect peace." And with 
Paul, Avhen he said, '' I know in whom I have 
believed." In presenting the petition before us, 
we ask God to forgive our trespasses, in like manner 
as we forgive those who are debtors to us. And 



54 LETTERS. 

yet, how often, if we look into our own heart, do 
we find that we have by no means exercised that 
forgiving spirit which we here profess to exercise! 
An impatient feeling of superiority and want of for- 
bearance too often characterise us in coming into 
contact with others. It arises very much from a 
proud and unsubdued heart. And it is to the 
cross that we must have recourse again, to get our 
hearts broken and melted by the sight of a dying 
and c ucified Saviour. Christ alone has the power, 
and he alone has the will, to grant such great requests 
as those we need to present. And, contemplating 
at what a price he has brought us salvation, may 
we make it our endeavour to make our " calling and 
election sure," and strive to obey our Lord and Master 
in all things, becoming changed into the same image ; 
for he was a glorious pattern. Having alluded to 
the next petition in a former letter, I leave you to 
take it up for next week. 

I am. 

My dear James, 

Yours most affectionately, 

James Paterson. 



LETTERS. 55 



Glasgow, 15^/i April, 1861 



My Dear James, 

As you remarked in your last, it is a 
strange circumstance that we should have come to the 
conclusion of our subject and of the college session 
just about the same time. We have great reason to 
feel thankful that we have been spared, and furnished 
with such precious opportunities for preparing to 
spend a useful life. And still, in looking back, I 
find that there are very many things done, in my case, 
that require the putting forth of a mercy that must be 
great indeed to overlook and pardon. " The mercy of 
the Lord is in the heavens, and His faithfulness 
reacheth unto the clouds." 

With regard to our topic this week, I do not think T 
have very much to say. It is, '^ For thine is the king- 
dom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen." 
The first point that demands consideration is the 
signification of the word " for" as it is used here. It 
seems to mean — We have been presenting many weighty 
petitions, and we present them to thee because thou 
alone hast the prerogative or the ability to grant our 
requests. And how true is this, and how impious in 
anyone to pretend that it is otherA\dse ! The priests 
of the Church of Rome, pretending to act as the sub- 
stitutes of God, take upon themselves the responsible 



56 LETTERS. 

office of persuading their victims tliat they have secured 
the forgiveness of their sins. But are we not distinctly 
told in Scripture that none can forgive sin but God ? 
In all the invitations to the weary, thirsty soul, such 
as, " Come to me and / will give you rest," Grod keeps 
the prerogative of purging the polluted soul from guilt 
and defilement, and making it beautiful and holy, in His 
own hand. And how fortunate that it is so ! Every 
sin is an infinite evil, and deserves the wrath and 
curse of God, and the pains of hell for ever. It must, 
therefore, require the exercise of infinite mercy to for- 
give it. Now, no created being has, or can have, any 
infinite attributes; therefore, God alone can possibly 
pardon the sinner. Many a one who is now in the 
kingdom of God, and has seen His glory, can attest 
that He is possessed not only of the power, but of the 
will to do so, and He has debarred none. How, then, 
should we strive that we may reach the heavenly 
Jerusalem! I cannot refrain from putting down a 
beautiful verse of the pious Cowper, which is surely an 
appropriate ending— 

" Nearest the throne, and first in song, 
Man shall his hallelujahs raise, 
While wondering angels round him throng, 
And swell the chorus of his praise." 

I had a letter from since he went home, and 

must write him. I am glad you took his speech, and 



LETTERS. 57 

that you got on well. I am writing one just now on 
" How to live well." First, speak of the solemnity 
of living, and then of some things we must do to 
live happily and well. 

I am, 

My dear James, 

Yours most affectionately, 

Ja IVIES Pateeson. 



Glasgow, 28/A Aiyril 1851. 



My Dear Jaivies, 



I received yours last week safely, and was 
exceedingly glad to see you in such good spirits. I 
have been inclined to feel somewhat of your mind at 
the giving up of the classes, ours having been given up 
to-day ; but somehow there is a sadness mingled with 
my joy, arising from the fact that I have felt a little 
difficulty in fixing: on what I should turn my attention 
now. As I intend to take the logic class, if spared, 
next winter, I am thinking of sitting down to Monro. 



58 LETTERS. 

I understand this is the best for Buchanan's class that 
has yet been published. I may also try one of the 
Greek prize exercises; — not that I expect to get a 
prize, for I know some of the first students try it; 
but it would improve my Greek considerably; — the 
9th Book of Herodotus, 3rd and 4th Books of the 
Odyssey, and Sandford's Prosody. I will also be 
employed at the yard, in order to get a knowledge 
of my father's business. I can't say I have ever 
definitely tried your plan of prescribing a fixed time 
each day for the different branches ; but since you 
speak so much in its favour I will likely do so. 

I half expected that, in your letter, you would have 
brought forward a new topic for consideration ; but as 
I Avill see you soon we will arrange about it. I will 

probably be at on Saturday, and have promised 

to spend an evening with . I will, therefore, 

see you at the church on Sabbath, and go over with 

you to ' ", going home on Monday. How time 

flies ! My seventeenth birth-day came round yester- 
day. You and I are speeding onward to the age of 
manhood, and require to prepare ourselves for after- 
life. But how very short is even the utmost limit of 
life on earth ! If we ever hope to enjoy a life after we 
pass, as we must, from this passing scene of things, 
we must prepare for it now. It is a most solemn fact 
that our destiny for eternity rests on the settlement of 
our accounts with God in so short a space as is assigned 



LETTERS. 59 

to US here ; but then, we have to bless Him that all 
He requires may be the work of a moment ; and it is 
just a look to the cross to have the hard heart melted, 
and the demon self humbled and put down, and God 
exalted to the place in our heart's love to which he is 
entitled. Nothing will make up to us, either in this 
world or the next, the want of God's love. Without 
it we cannot be happy — with it we are happy and safe 
for ever. 

Of my speech, concerning which you were inquiring, 
I vd]l tell you more particularly when I see you. The 
meeting takes place on Friday, which is the reason of 
my not coming out then. I had written before I got 
your last, but have not yet got an answer. Kind 
regards to all the family. 

I am. 

My dear James, 

Yours affectionately, 

James Pater son. 



60 LETTERS. 

Glasgow, 19th May^ 1851. 

My Dear James, 

The subject which you have suggested 
for our consideration is a most important one. Indeed, 
the most momentous question with which we have 
anything to do. It must then be of great consequence 
that we have a right comprehension of it, and of 
eternal consequence that we have right feeling in 
regard to it. Your division seems very natural 
and good. We vrill therefore stick to it. I trust 
we may receive both instruction and profit by exam- 
ining it. Firsts The necessity; Second^ The nature; 
Thirds The extent of the atonement. We are to 
consider first the necessity, as seen in the character 
of Grod and in the condition and character of man. 

Justice is an immutable part of God's character. 
It must and will on all occasions be exercised with 
absolute exactness. Man often mingles mercy Avith 
judgment, and does not and cannot fix punishment 
in absolute proportion to the demerit. He is guided 
by expediency ; but it is otherwise with God. When- 
ever He has threatened punishment for transgression, 
it is necessary and certain that the cup of wrath 
will be emptied to the dregs. If any of God's 
creatures break His law, no consideration of mercy 
can open up the way to pardon, without satisfaction 



LETTERS. Gl 

being rendered to His justice. God gave our first 
parents His law, furnishing tliem with the ability 
and command to keep it, setting before them the 
punishment of death as the consequence of disobedience. 
*'In the day thou eatest thereof, thou shalt surely 
die." Consequently, when man fell, justice required 
his death. Here then stepped in the yearnings of 
love. Then was drawn forth the blessed attribute 
of mercy, which had hitherto been undisplayed; and 
which, for aught we know, but for the apparently 
incidental circumstance of man yielding to the tempta- 
tion of a serpent, would have been veiled in the 
inscrutableness of the divine character for ever. The 
great problem was — " How could God be just, and 
yet the justifier of the ungodly?" How could He 
combine justice, which the perfection of His character 
required that He should exercise, with mercy, on 
which man had no claim? "Wisdom dwelling with 
prudence found out the wise invention;" and it was, 
that the penalty of the broken law should be inflicted 
on a substitute able and willing to bear it. Such an 
one was Christ Jesus. God's character then pre- 
cluded the possibility of pardon to man without 
the payment of a ransom. But not only so, man's 
condition and character also precluded it. He had 
by his fall sunk himself into a state of debasement 
and enmity to God. The offence was all on his 
side, and therefore God must ha^e satisfaction ; and 



G2 LETTERS. 

the enmity was all on one side, and therefore there 
must be a system of things instituted whereby that 
enmity could be taken away. Mere intercession 
on the part of Christ with God would not do, because 
that would not have " made honourable " the broken 
law. Nor would it do merely to instruct man in 
his duty; for that alone can never remove heart- 
enmity. An atonement was necessary ; and the 
atonement of Christ satisfied the claims of the broken 
law, and met man's need. The great antitype of 
the sacrifices offered under the Mosaic economy 
became incarnate, and suffered and died the accursed 
death of the cross, in order that he might open 
the floodgates of his Father's love. Thus he " magni- 
fied the law, and made it honourable;" gave it a 
dignity that it did not possess before; and laid the 
only sure foundation on which the convinced and 
troubled soul can rest. 

In your next you will proceed to the second par- 
ticular; and if you are prepared to do so, I would 
like if you would divide the second head. 

You ask me if I have arranged my hours. Mean- 
while they are these: One hour at the yard before 
breakfast ; ten to one, study ; one to four, yard ; five 
to seven, study ; eight till bed-time, study and reading. 
My study will principally be divided between Greek 
and Logic; but experience has not yet taught me 
liow best to distribute them over my time. I intend 



LETTERS. 03 

reading Homer, Herodotus, and Sandford's Prosody ; 
and am not sure whether to go on with all at once, 
or finish one before another. I think the former 
plan the better yet. I have been reading the life 
of Samuel Johnson by Boswell. It is very interest- 
ing to mark the progress of so vast a mind ; but there 
are many reprehensible traits in his character ; and 
Boswell unwillingly displays his own puny charatcer 
with great clearness. He was a complete sycophant, 
and made Johnson his idol. 

My father, mother, and uncle intend going to 
London this week, &c., &c. 

Believe me, 

My dear James, 

Your ever affectionate friend, 

James Paterson. 



Glasgow, Zrd June, 1851. 
My Dear James, 

I was writing you last night as usual, 
but did not get my letter "vvintten off till to-day. 
We have been endeavouring to prove the necessity 



64 LETTERS. 

of an atonement for sin, if God's mercy is to be 
extended to the sinner. We have seen that the 
character of God and of man alike prevent any 
intercourse or compromise. We have seen, too, that 
an atonement has been made. The Son of God 
consented to become our daysman ; and in order 
that he might effect a reconciliation, became in- 
carnate, and obeyed even to the death. In the 
sacrifice of Jesus, God's justice was satisfied, His 
holiness wonderfully exhibited, and His truth main- 
tained. Man seems naturally to have a feeling 
that he is under condemnation ; and this leads 
him to try by penances and sacrifices to propitiate 
the favour and satisfy the justice of offended Deity. 
But when he is thoroughly awakened to a sense 
of his own sinfulness and God's justice, he must 
ever despair of satisfying it by any personal merit. 
This burden must be taken entirely off his own 
shoulders, or he can never have true peace. This 
the cross, and it alone, can do. The atonement of 
Jesus, then, is one way whereby the redemption 
of the believer is purchased. But not only so, 
it is the only way. Firsts Jesus was the only per- 
son who could make a sufficient expiation. Second^ 
The expiation which Jesus offered was the onfy one 
that could be satisfactory. 

I. Jesus Avas the only person who could make 
atonement for sin. '* Other foundation can no man 



LETTERS. 65 

lay than that is laid, which is Christ Jesus." Had 
it been possible for God to have been satisfied with 
any atonement inferior to that of Jesus, assuredly 
His well-beloved Son would have been spared the 
degradation. But no. The righteousness of pure 
and perfect man, or of the highest angel even, is 
sufficient only for himself. It required not only 
perfection but infinitude for the work ; and none 
but God himself was or could be thus " mighty to 
save." " He saw that there was no man, and 
wondered that there was no intercessor ; therefore 
his arm brought salvation unto him, and his righteous- 
ness it sustained him." Jesus stepped forward, 
declaring his readiness to stand in the room of 
man ; and God the Father was enabled to give forth ' 
the promise, *' The seed of the woman shall bruise 
the head of the serpent." And surely, when we 
consider that the Divine Sa^-iour was so over- 
whelmed under the infliction of his Father's wrath 
as to ciy out in agony, '^ Father, if it be possible, 
let this cup pass fi'om me," the conclusion is irresist- 
ible, that he alone could bring in salvation. 

II. The expiation which Jesus made was the only 
one that could be satisfactory. It was absolutely 
necessary that the Son of God, as the substitute of 
the sinner, should endure the penalty due to sin. 
Without this there would not have been an atonement. 

F 



66 LETTERS. 

Now, the penalty of sin was death, so that Christ 
must die. He could not stand between God and 
man either in his character of prophet or of king. 
He must become the offerer and offering — at once 
the priest and sacrifice. He must needs be our 
vicar, and suffer the punishment we deserved. And 
so it was. The sufferings of Christ, though penal, 
were vicarious. " He died for sins, but not his own." 
On this ground alone, then, can pardon be dispensed 
to the sinner. Just as, " Bj the offence of one, judg- 
ment came upon all men to condemnation, so by 
the obedience of one shall many be made righteous." 
Man fell by a representative; and a representative 
suffered in his stead. ''There is, therefore, now no 
condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus." 

I leave the second head untouched, hoping you 
will divide in your next, and make any additional 
remarks on the topic of this letter that may occur 
to you. 

My father, mother, and (Kirkwall) uncle, are at 
present in London. On account of my father being 
away I do not get sticking so closely to my hours 
of study as I would like. The yard requires a good 
deal of attention. I trust you are getting familiar 
with Celsus and the rest. I am very glad you liked 

's preaching. I have heard from more sources 

than one a very high opinion expressed, so that you 



LETTERS. hi 

have not the slightest reason to cliarge yourself 
with partiality. With kindest regards to all the 
family, 

I am, 

My dear James, 

Your very affectionate friend, 

James Paterson. 



Glasgow, Wh June, 1851. 



My Dear James, 



What account I ought to give of my 
dilatoriness I know not, but have some desire to 
exculpate myself. I was sorry to let my writing day 
pass ; but had to wait at the train for my uncle, who 
came home that evening. Up till yesterday my time 
was taken up with him ; and though I was looking- at 
our topic last night, I could not manage to get it 
written till now. My father and mother reached 
home on Friday last, having parted from my uncle by 
the way. They were highly delighted with their visit 



68 LETTEBS. 

to tlie metropolis ; but fear, especially in the case of 
young persons, when proper habits and principles have 
not been formed, there is a great danger of being carried 
away by the very excess of grandeur. My uncle was 
at Birmingham over Sabbath, and preached for Mr. 
Angell James. 

But to our subject. It falls to me to make a few 
remarks on the priestly office, and Christ's execution 
of its duties. I must needs be desultory. The exist- 
ence of a priesthood seems to be coeval with the fall of 
man. For, although Melchisedec is the first person 
mentioned in Scripture as " priest of the most high 
God," we find Cain and Abel performing the duties of 
the office. The fact of its existence at so early a 
period, and in the course of time of a particular class 
of individuals being set apart for its maintenance, 
affords us evidence of its divine origin, and leads us to 
inquire into its nature and design. The office of a 
priest involved numerous duties ; but, perhaps, princi- 
pally those of sacrifice and oblation, and intercession. 
Under the Mosaic economy we see the priests going 
up at least every morning and evening to the altar of 
burnt offering, and there presenting the appointed 
sa;crifice — a lamb without blemish. We see them in 
the Holy place filling the golden censor with incense, 
and then dropping into it a live coal from off the altar, 
which caused this ''offering of a sweet smell" to 
penetrate through the blue veil into the Holy of 



LETTERS. 69 

Holies, in which was the Shekinah or visible presence 
of God. And we hear of them, too, being commanded 
to " Weep between the porch and the altar, and to 
say, Spare thy people, O Lord, and give not thine 
heritage to reproach, that the people should rule over 
them. Wherefore should they say among the people, 
Where is their God ? " Besides the ordinary priests, 
there was the High Priest, to whom the rest were 
subordinate. The first of these was Aaron, and after 
him the eldest of every succeeding generation of his 
descendants. He alone was permitted to enter the 
most Holy place, and that only once a-year. To have 
gone oftener would have incurred instantaneous death. 
This he did on the great day of atonement, when the 
scape goat, having the sins of the people confessed 
over it, was sent into "a land not inhabited," and he, 
having ofiered sacrifice first for himself, and then for 
the errors of the people, sprinkled the blood upon the 
mercy seat before the visible appearing of Jehovah. 
But all this was merely symbolical. The sacrifices 
ofiered by the priesthood pointed forward to the great 
and last sacrifice for sin — Christ Jesus. And the 
High Priest represented him who, in this character, 
" became us, who is holy, harmless, undefiled, and 
separate from sinners." The Son of God became both 
the priest and the sacrifice. He did not, it is true, 
with his own hands put himself to death. This would 
have broken one of his own commandments : it would 



70 LETTERS, 

have been suicide. But, nevertheless, it was a willing 
sacrifice on his part ; for it was to accomplish this that 
he came from heaven to earth. '^ He gave his life a 
ransom for many." And surely it was unnecessary 
that such a sacrifice should be repeated. "By one 
offering he hath perfected for ever them that are 
sanctified." And like the typical High Priest entering 
within the blue veil into the Holy of Holies, he went 
through the blue skies into the presence of his Father, 
presenting on behalf of his people the merits of his 
death. '' He hath entered into heaven itself, now to 
appear in the presence of God for us." He has not 
yet given up the duties of the office which he 
condescended to assume ; but is still '' by the right 
hand of God, making continual intercession for us." 
He is represented as the " Lamb in the midst of the 
throne;" and as ''^ clothed in a vesture dipped in 
blood" — reminding us that he not only began the 
work of reconciliation, but is carrying it on, and will 
do so until '' all old things shall have passed away," 
and a new system of things be introduced. 

I can't help being sorry that you are leaving ; 

but am glad to think of the comfort and happiness 
you will in all probability enjoy in your new circum- 
stances. 

I hope ^s health is being confinned, and that 

he will be strengthened for his arduous duties. 

My father has gone with uncle so far as Aberdeen, 



LETTERS. i i 

having business to do ; and Mr. Young, our clerk, is 
in the country, so that the foreman and I have sole 
charge meanwhile. I was exceedingly busy to-day. 
I expect to be in Orkney in about a fortnight, or as 
soon as I can get away from the yard. With kind 
regards to all the family, 

I remain, 

My dear James, 

Yours most affectionately, 

James Paterson. 



Kirkwall, \%th August, 1851. 



My Dear James, 



Your last reached me in due time. The 
subject you treated is one of the deepest importance, 
and one which has occasioned much discussion. In 
this letter I shall endeavour to make a few remarks on 
the same topic. 

The undue confinement of the designs of the death 
of Christ has given rise to much error in regard to 
the extent of the atonement. God has ends to gain 



72 LETTERS. 

by whatever he does ; and the death of Christ was 
not only fitted but designed to serve many great ends. 
It was designed to disclose the character of God in 
a manner that nothing else could do. It displayed 
His holiness, justice, wisdom, and mercy. 

It was designed to exhibit the character of His law 
as holy, just, and immutable. Christ in dying mag- 
nified the law, and made it honourable. 

It was designed, too, to develop the character and 
principles of His government in its inflexible rectitude; 
and in the character of Mediator the "government was 
on the shoulders " of Him " whose feet are as fine 
brass, as if they burned in a furnace." 

It was designed, farther, to lay a solid basis for the 
jfree and unreserved ofier of mercy to the race. Its 
infinite merit rendered it sufficient for this. Such was 
the satisfaction it rendered to the law of God, and the 
vindication it gave of His character and government, 
that He was enabled with perfect consistency to offer 
its blessings to every man. It was an atonement 
needed by all men alike, adapted to all, sufficient for 
all, offered to all, with the assurance that, if they 
accept it, they will be received, and if they reject it, 
the guilt will be their own. " God so loved the ivorld, 
that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever 
believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting 
life." Christ was fully furnished for the salvation of a 
whole world. He came not to save one class rather 



LETTERS. 73 

than another. He is the physician of the whole 
workl by office and by competency. No doubt many 
do not call him in, but still " he came to save sinners, 
even the chief." The death of Christ was further 
designed to secure the salvation of God's chosen 
people. If Christ had any definite purpose to save 
men in dying, that purpose must have been limited to 
those who will ultimately be saved. Some have 
maintained, as you stated in your last, that the death 
of Christ was merely a conditional provision of re- 
demption for all mankind. This is opposed by many 
considerations. It would leave it a matter of doubt 
whether the atonement would, in any instance, be 
effectual. But this would be inconsistent with the 
promises of God to his Son, of the certain efficacy of 
his death, in such language as, '' Thy people shall be 
willing in the day of thy power." '' He shall see a 
seed who shall prolong their days ; and the pleasure of 
the Lord shall prosper in his hand." 

The various characters which Christ sustained in 
dying seem also to go against this doctrine. He 
died as a shepherd. Then it must have been specially 
for his sheep. ''I lay down my life for the sheep." 
" These I must bring, and they shall hear my voice, 
and there shall be one fold and one shepherd." The 
church is represented as a bride ; and for her, Christ 
in the character of a husband laid down his life. 
He died also as a surety; but this could not regard 



74 LETTERS. 

tlie Father. "For all the promises of God are in 
him; yea, and in him, Amen." It was for man, 
then, that he was surety. But how can we regard 
him as in any strict or proper sense the surety of 
all men, since, in the case of all those who are lost, 
his suretyship would fail? God could never form 
a purpose which he would allow to be defeated, 
or begin an undertaking which he would not carry 
through. The doctrine of atonement is mentioned 
in Scripture as connected with an eternal and un- 
conditional election. The death of Christ is given 
as a reason why none at last will be able to lay 
anything to the charge of God's elect — (Romans, 
viii. 33 and 34.) But if the atonement respects all 
men equally, it would form no peculiar defence 
against such a charge. The ground of a believer's 
security would then be, not the death of Christ, but 
an act on his own part, namely — ^believing. 

We thus see that it is wrong to speak either of 
a universal atonement, or of a limited atonement. 
Neither of these is in any exclusive or proper sense 
true. It does not follow that, because the atonement 
may be viewed in two great aspects, that therefore, 
there was a double atonement. The phraseology 
recommended by our church seems most explicitly 
to bring out the true meaning : " the atonement has 
special and general relations, references, or aspects." 

Much of the obscurity of this mysterious subject 



LETTERS. 7d 

aiises out of the apparent conflict of divine decrees 
and free agency on the part of man. But if we 
acknowledge the fact that God knows every occur- 
rence, great or small, that will ever come to pass, 
and yet act in every day life as if such a thing were 
not — why not carry the principle to its legitimate 
extent? Or if not, consistency urges us to adopt 
a principle professed by some of the ancients, and 
one which forms the excuse of many a hardened 
sinner^ namely — fate, ...... 

I have been getting on very agreeably with my 
work since I came. I expect to get the 3rd Book 
of the Iliad finished in a week or two, which will be 
a great relief. I like the logic very well, but have 
been meeting in with some difficulties in Whateley 
and Leechman's definitions, which it were needless 
to mention here. 

The communion here was on Sabbath last. Uncle 
did all the work during the day himself. 

We had beautiful weather last week, but now 
it has set in damp. I intended taking a ride this 
afternoon, but Avill be prevented for that reason. 

I am, 

My dear James, 

Your affectionate friend, 

James Paterson. 



7G LETTERS. 

Glasgow, 14:th January, 1852. 

Mr Dear James, 

It is now Wednesday evening, and I 
should have written you on Monday. But as before, 
I am just feeling so pressed that I scarcely know 
what to do first. I have no doubt you are so busy 
yourself that you at once see the force of the excuse, 
and accept it accordingly. But letting this un- 
avoidable preliminary drop, I proceed to the subject 
matter of the letter. 

You would be very much struck with the end 
of poor Winton and his wife. It came the more 
suddenly upon us from the recency of his connection 
with us. Your mother mentioned that he and Mrs. 
Winton had visited them a very short time ago. 
You recollect, too, of hearing the same sermon from 
him in Dr. King's that we had in Mr. M'GilFs: 
'-'- The word of God is not bound." What a scene 
it must have been? Surrounded by a flaming ship 
and a tempestuous ocean ! Then boatful after boat- 
ful overwhelmed in the waves, and many immortals 
hurried into eternity clinging to each other for a 
rescue none could give, while the flaming ship passed 
on. At such an hour as that, would be felt — when 
there was no eye to pity nor hand to help — the 
power of an almighty arm, and the value of Jesus 



LETTERS. 77 

as a friend. Let us hope that the truths "which 
Winton proclaimed to others were his own support 
in the hour of death ; and that now, in presence 
of his Saviour, he is glorifpng God for the very 
circumstance that we deem so melancholy. 

Since I returned from , I have enjoyed good 

health, with the exception of a cold which I have had 
for a day or two back. We are now pursuing logic 
proper ; but have not yet reached the syllogism, 
which is, I believe, the most difficult part of the 
course ; and which, if possible, I intend to master. 
Meantime we are among the preliminaries. 

I was not called on the Milton essay as I expected, 
nor indeed on any since ; but on Saturday had the 
longest examination I have yet had, and managed all 
the questions. 

Let me know how your preparations for the coming 
examination stand when you write, and believe me, 

Your most attached friend, 

James Paterson. 



78 LETTEllS. 

Glasgow, Zrd Fehy., 1852. 

My Dear elAMES, 

I could have said so little had I written 
sooner, that I felt reluctant to put pen to paper at 
all, and even now the sands appear as if run dry. 
For the last three days we have had no college work, 
it being the ultimate holidays — Candlemas and the 
Eector's holiday. These all coming together have 
given a little time for relaxation. I have had two 
long walks ; one on Saturday for between three and 
four hours. My unaccustomed bones ached under the 
effects of it for the whole of next day ; and even on 
Monday they were so sore that I was obliged con- 
siderably to contract the limits of my excursion. 
The jaunt has had a perceptible effect ever since I 
returned. I am quite fresh and hearty, \vhile some 
of the students look pale and drooping, as if repining 
in the want of the fresh country air. I still continue 
my favour for the logic. It is indeed the most 
interesting class I have been in ; and though I have 
considerable quaking in looking forward, especially 
to what is to come in the present month, yet I hope 
by a little diligence to wend my way comfortably 
through the syllogistic mazes. I suppose you are still 
in the midst of preparations for your approaching 
examination. I have little fear as to your getting 



LETTERS. 79 

through creditably. The plan of meeting with a few 
fellow-students, and submitting to mutual questionings, 
must have a tendency, I should think, to bring the 
subjects before you in all their bearings, and fix them 
firmly in the memory. And it is a notorious fact, 
that wherever there is anything like competition, 
energy and action are excited, so that all are benefited 
just by the stimulus which each gives to each. I feel 
the effects of competition perhaps too much in the 
logic. Whenever there's a good question given, and I 
think I can answer it, I have an irresistible desire to 
do so. Perhaps this is carrying the thing to excess ; 
but I do think that a little innocent striving may not 
be injurious, but otherwise, tending as it does to give 
confidence to the wavering, and to stimulate the 
lagging. 

I am attending Nichol's course of Astronomy. lie 
seems a fluent lecturer, mostly extempore; but I have 
not got very much good from him yet. He has not 
got the length or height of the stars. How would 
you like to pay a shilling per session for your materia 
medica or anatomy ? Such is the sum Dr. Nichol 
requires for attendance on his course. I should think 
it all goes into the pocket of William Taylor. 

You asked particularly about my cousin in your 
last. I am sorry to say that since then she has had 
rather a serious relapse — putting her apparently just 
a month back from what she had been. She seems 



80 LETTEES. 

again to be rallying, however, and has within the last 
few days begun the cod liver oil. Many remarkable 
cures have been ascribed to its efficacy ; and I trust 
that under it she may be again restored to health. 
We are all so frail, we little know what may happen 
to us — what disease may be sent to gnaw unconsciously 
at our vitals, or what death -bolt may overtake us 
in a moment. But this is certain, that in Jesus as a 
rock of defence none of these things need move us. 

Yours very affectionately, 

James Paterson. 



ESSAYS. 



a 



E S S -A. Y S. 



TIME AND ITS VALUE.* 

The subject selected for a few remarks, on the 
present occasion, is Time and its Value, The 
imagination of some have aptly pictured time as 
invested with wings, and holding in hand an hour- 
glass, to denote its fleeting character. ''Time and 
tide," says the proverb, " wait for no man." In 
all ages of the world, time has rolled on with the 
same incredible rapidity. No human events, in 
however quick succession they may foUow each other, 
can possibly convey to the mind an adequate idea 
of the speed of time. Ere the steam engine has 
gone over a single inch of ground, a portion of 
time, however smaU, has been added to the past. 

It may be thought, that to attempt to treat of 
a subject so vast and fugitive were a task too exalted 

* Written for Youn^ Men's Society, March, ISoO ; and consequently before 
he had reached hia sixteenth year. 



84 ESSAYS. 

for juvenile powers. But our object, at present, 
is not to trace the history or course of time, which 
has been so well done by the poet. Nor do we 
adopt the term in its largest acceptation, as embracing 
the history of our world, but in its more restricted 
sense as applied to human life. Neither are we 
going to speak of the different stages thereof — child- 
hood, youth, manhood, and old age. We confine 
our remarks to the second of these stages, and mil 
attempt to make a few observations on the value 
of time in youth. 

The season of youth is brief, very brief. Com- 
prised within the compass of a very few short years, 
it may be compared to a '^vapour which appeareth 
for a little time, and then vanisheth away." The 
youth who, erew^hile, with childish eagerness, engaged 
in all the sports which occupy our earliest years, 
will, ere many moons revolve, have entered on the 
third stage, the manhood of his existence. So short 
is the season of youth ; so swift the wings of time ! 

But brief though this period of our existence is, 
in the view of what is to be done it is exceed- 
ingly precious. The fabric of our own destiny 
hangs, in a great measure, on our improvement or 
neglect of the opportunities of youth. The prospects 
and occupations of young men may differ much ; 
but the husbanding and improvement of time is a 
duty common to them all. It is the dutv of all 



TIME AND ITS VALUE. 85 

to fit their minds foi\ thinking aright, for reading, 
so as to be benefited, for acquiring varied useful 
information, and for securing habits of attention, 
reflection, and action. The inferior tribes are urged 
on by instinct. The laws which guide them are 
perfect at once. The bird builds her nest as perfectly 
the first time as she does the last. Not so with 
ip.an. The human architect reaches perfection in 
his art through slow and laborious processes. He 
must be educated, and his powers of thinking and 
acting must be gradually developed. To fit him 
for a proper sphere of action and usefulness, a system 
of previous training is necessary. To prepare for 
the harvest expected to be reaped, good seed must 
be sown at the proper time. That time is youth. 
The direction of the twig marks that of the future 
tree. And the direction given to the dispositions and 
tastes in youth will, in every probability, give the 
stamp to the character of the future man. 

We have said that the time of youth is precious. 
It is so for various reasons. Its very brevity indicates 
its preciousness. The shorter time a man has for 
performing an important piece of business, the greater 
is his anxiety that it should be instantly begun and 
ardently prosecuted. Such, we might reasonably ex- 
pect, would be the feeling of those in the springtime 
of life. That life is short and uncertain is often 
whispered in our ears, but procrastination with 



86 ESSAYS. 

thievish step steals in and robs.us of half our precious 
treasure, '' Procrastination," says the poet, ''is the 
thief of time." 

" Year after year it steals, till all are fled, 
APxd to the mercies of a moment leave 
The vast concerns of an eternal state." 

Delay follows delay; and reaching manhood, as 
it were unawares, they are called to take their station 
in society, and to be judged according to the char- 
acter and attainments they may possess. 

There is another evil which follows upon the 
neglect of the opportunities of youth. We not only 
thereby deprive ourselves of the knowledge which 
otherwise we might possess, but habits of idleness 
and inactivity are formed, and never in after years 
can the mind be so tutored to study as had the 
opportunities of youth been improved. The time 
of youth, then, because it is short, is precious. And 
how important is it, since so much depends upon 
it, that it be rightly improved ! And we need scarcely 
add here, that as it is brief, so is it uncertain. 

The limit of man's life is threescore years and 
ten. How few, however, reach the limit ! How 
many are cut down in the midst of their days, and 
how many in the morning of their existence ! No 
stage of human life is free from the encroachments 
of death. We quote the words of Cowper — 



TIME AND ITS VALUE. 87 

'' Life a field of battle is, 

Thousands ftiU within our view. 
And the next death-bolt that flies. 
May be sent to me or you." 

Youth is precious, because it is in various respects 
a seed-time. It is emphatically the time for sowing : 
and true it is, that " what a man sows that shall he 
also reap," whether in kind or in measure ; and 
whether in relation to this world or the next. If he 
sow idleness and dissipation, he will reap the same. 
If he sow industry, integrity, and truth, he will reaj- 
a corresponding reward in after-life. 

It may be asked, what are the duties that are 
required of youth ? These are various ; but we can 
only at present glance at a few of them. As idleness 
is a curse, and industry and usefulness a blessing, it is 
expected of all that they make choice of some profes- 
sion. This choice is expected to be made in youth. 
And how important the choice, both as regards the 
well-being of the individual and of society, guided, as 
he must be, by his own views, wishes, circumstances, 
and providence, in fixing his profession ! This is often 
a trying and difficult duty to perform, as it is one 
deeply important. But not only must he fix on some 
course of usefulness, but he must prepare with diligence 
for the right discharge of the duties of that calling. 
Not that we advocate that the future merchant is to 
have his mind wholly occupied with questions of 



88 ESSAYS. 

pounds, shillings, and pence, although his education in 
this direction should be somewhat thorough. It ought 
to be the aim of every one, whatever his profession or 
station, to have his mind well cultivated, and his 
memory well stored with useful knowledge. He should 
love knowledge and truth for their own sakes. And, 
besides this, it should be his aim to be a useful and 
intelligent citizen, and, as far as he can, to be a bene- 
factor of his race. In order to this, he should make 
himself well acquainted with the ordinary branches of 
human learning. 

History, for example, teaching us wisdom from the' 
past, and the biography of eminent individuals, setting 
life before us in some of its most important aspects, 
form an improving kind of reading. 

Languages, too, in their own place, constitute a 
useful study. 

Science, such as mathematics, chemistry, geography, 
natural history, and geology, tend to strengthen and 
expand the intellect. 

The fine arts, also, such as poetry, painting, and 
music, tend much to enliven and refine the mind. 
AVho can rise from the perusal of the sublime concep- 
tions of a Milton, the classical beauties of a Campbell, 
or the elegant delineations of a pious Cowper, without 
being both pleased and profited ? The soul attuned to 
truth, beauty, and harmony, is open to the master 
strokes of genius, whether presented to the eye, or 



TIME AND ITS VALUE. 89 

the ear, or the imagination ; and poetry, music, and 
painting, all speak one language, at once coming 
from and addressed to the depths of the soul. 

The current literature of the day may not be 
unnoticed by him, in order to ascertain its true 
character, its tendency and merits, and who may 
be the living heroes in this field, as well as who 
the most distinguished in past ages. He may not 
be able to grapple at first with the learned articles 
of the " Edinburgh Review," the great ornament of 
which has recently passed from the stage of time. 
T^ut he may peruse with interest and profit the 
smaller, yet excellent literary pages of " Hogg's 
Christian Instructor." One thing here remains : 
he must be prepared to act his part as a citizen. 
Politics, therefore, must occupy a little of his atten- 
tion. He must become acquainted with the form 
of government under which he lives, as also with 
the great leading statesmen of the day, and now 
and then turn his eyes to the high places of legislation 
to see how the prime minister is steering the vessel 
of the state, and be gradually making up his mind 
on important public questions ; acting on the prin- 
ciple — " Homo sum ; humani nihil a me alienum 
puto'^ — I am a man, and I regard nothing human 
as foreign to me. 

It is not now out of place to allude to another 
and a more important choice which ought to be 



90 ESSAYS. 

made in youth. The subject would be incomplete 
were it overlooked. Man is a being destined for 
immortality. He leaves the stage of time to enter 
the circle of eternity ; continually increasing, as 
eternity's vast wheel rolls on, in happiness and ex- 
cellence, or in vnretchedness and misery. Man has 
the choice of his destiny. How important that the 
choice be made, and the right course entered on, ere 
the character has been formed, and evil habits 
acquired ! Let a new heaven - born principle be 
implanted in the soul, and it will germinate and 
increase for ever; and let us apply our minds to' 
the highest wisdom, in humble dependence on higher 
aids and influences than this world can furnish. 

" Weak and irresolute is man ; 
The purpose of to-day, 
Woven with pains into this plan, 
To-morrow rends away. 

"Bound on a voyage of awful length, 
And dangers little known, 
A stranger to superior strength, 
Man vainly trusts his own. 

"But oars alone can ne'er prevail 
To reach the distant coast ; 
The breath of heaven must swell the sail, 
Or all the toil is lost." 

March, 1850. 



91 



PERSONAL USEFULNESS-ITS REQUISITES AND 
MOTIVES.* 

To such a question as the following : How is man to 
be accounted of? it is important that we be able to 
give an intelligent answer. Few, we believe, will 
adopt the sentiment, once uttered by Lord Brougham 
in our own city, viz., " Man is but what he knows ;" 
in other words, man is to be regarded as rising in the 
scale of being according to the extent of his knowledge, 
and as descending in proportion to his want of know- 
ledge. Much as we value knowledge, the idea of 
giving it such a place, holding it superior to goodness 
and usefulness in the individual, cannot for a 
moment be entertained. What ! Is it come to this, 
that every man is to be accounted of and esteemed 
merely, or even mainly, according to the extent and 
profundity of his knowledge? Then must we respect 
most highly the man who, possessed of gigantic poAvers 
and vast attainments, hoards up these treasures, it 
may be, in his own bosom, or, still worse, miserably 
misapplies them, and reserve but feeble praise for 

* Written for Young Men's Society. January 1, 1850. 



92 ESSAYS. 

those lesser lights, which, shedding forth blessings 
in their course through life, benignantly shine on 
the path of humanity, guiding our steps to "glory, 
honour, and immortality." Knowledge is, as we may 
afterwards see, important as a means, but not as the 
summum bonum, or highest good. 

It is unnecessary to bespeak your attention to the 
subject of our essay. It speaks for itself. How may 
we best fulfil the end for which we are created ? It 
is an inquiry deserving the most earnest and minute 
investigation. It is one, too, congenial to the objects 
of such a meeting as this, having personal and social 
improvement professedly in view. We may well feel 
our inability to do justice to the topic. An essay, 
however, means only an attempt, and we may not be 
deterred from making the trial by a consciousness of 
our own incompetency. It is only by repeated essays, 
or attempts, that we can ultimately succeed in any- 
thing, and this especially holds in all inquiries after 
Truth. In turning attention to this subject, then, we 
shall endeavour to explain, 

1st, What we understand by personal usefulness ; 
and, 

2nd, Point out some of its requisites and motives. 

I. What IS personal usefulness ? 

In order that we may arrive at the meaning 
of the term, let us glance for a moment at the 



PERSONAL USEFULNESS. 93 

position in which the human family have been 
placed by the all -wise Creator. Everything that 
is is intended to serve some purpose. Can we 
look above us, and behold the majestic orb of day, 
and imagine that he exists in vain ? We feel his 
influence, and we know that he sheds his cheeiing 
and enkindling rays on other worlds besides our 
own. Can we look around us, and sav that this 
earth exists for nought? Why do so many created 
beings inhabit its surface? Why do the air and 
sea teem with their varied forms of life ? It is 
all for man. What a being, then, must man be, and 
what a high end must he be intended to serve ! 

Created originally in the likeness of his God, he 
was designed to reflect it; and now, though fallen, 
there remains the possibility, nay, the hope of 
restoration, with all the duties rising out of it. And 
not only with regard to himself, but Avith regard 
to his fellow-men also, has man a mission to per- 
form. He stands not solitary and independent on 
this globe. On e\ery side he finds links binding 
liim to humanity. He cannot move ivithout feeling 
that he is united to his fellows by the strongest 
ties. He is surrounded by relationships. He 
stands connected with his God, so as to have the 
highest inducements to obedience and love — with his 
kindred, by the bonds of consanguinity and natural 
aflection — with friends, by the development of the 



94 ESSAYS. 

social principle inherent in his nature — and with his 
fellow-men in general, by the powers, and sympa- 
thies, and faculties of mind which distinguish him 
from the beasts that perish. Such are man's relation- 
ships ; and, in general, usefulness denotes a doing 
justice to them all. 

But there is a high and noble sense in which the 
term is employed. It is in using his efforts for the 
weal of the immortal soul that any one becomes useful 
in the best sense. In this view, what a field for 
exertion opens before us ! There is the sad spectacle 
of a world for the most part '' lying in wickedness." 
Thousands are day by day descending to that place 
" from whose bourne no traveller returns," driven 
away in their wickedness, or taken ''where the 
wricked cease from troubling and the weary are at 
rest." And to think that these beings are immortal, 
never ceasing to exist — eternity's vast wheel for ever 
revolving, and they with it, increasing in happiness 
and bliss, or in wretchedness and woe. No human 
eye can pierce the dark curtain of the grave — no 
human hand can be stretched out to aid there. 

In general, are not the sympathies of our nature 
evoked when those with whom we are connected 
are, by sudden accident, plunged into the depths of 
suffering or calamity ; and should they happen to be 
united to us by the ties of kindred or friendship, 
then the keener and deeper are our sympathetic 



PERSONAL USEFDLNESS. 95 

feelings, and the stronger onr desire to administer to 
their rehef. 

But we may be engaged in a nobler work even 
than this, viz., endeavouring to better the condition 
of our fellow-men in want, in ignorance, and misery. 
There rankles in the breast of man the germ of a 
disease more deadly than the most virulent of earthly 
plagues. The heart is naturally averse to all that is 
holy and good. To put forth endeavours for its 
amelioration is a work worthy the loftiest intellect 
and most devoted earnestness. Man has a spirit, 
and the highest direction of usefulness is when, pene- 
trating the exterior, it regards the wants of the soul, 
and seeks eagerly its good. 

From these remarks it will be seen what we under- 
stand by personal usefulness. It is, in our own 
individual sphere, fulfilling the great end of our 
existence on the earth, in every relation of life, 
and all under the eye, and in obedience to the 
command of Him who made us, who rules us, 
and who will judge us. And if the end of all 
creation be usefulness, how high and sacred is 
our individual mission ! 

We depreciate not the varied forms in which men 
have been useful to their fellows, such as discoveries 
in the arts and sciences. We depreciate not the 
achievements of an Aristotle and a Bacon, mapping 
clearly to reason's eye and to all time the double 



96 ESSAYS. 

method of the reasoning process, by which we are 
led to sure and incontrovertible truth. We depre- 
ciate not the track in which the genius of a Sir 
Isaac Newton shone with such starry lustre. We 
under-rate not the more practical inventions of a Watt 
and a Bell. We love nature's faithful imitations in 
the varied arts, that tend to refine aixd humanise the 
species. We have no feeble praise for the devoted 
patriotism of a Hampden and a Washington, who 
bled nobly on the field of conflict. The high services 
of the enlightened statesman are not to be lightly 
esteemed, in guiding the destinies of a nation. And 
we are charmed with the pure and irrepressible 
benevolence of the devoted Howard in penetrating, 
at risk of life, the abodes of human wretchedness, 
and alleviating and warding off calamity. But we 
must ever regard those as the noblest benefactors, 
who take human beings home to their embrace in 
their indestructible interests, and who labour for 
the attainment of their highest good ; and this, not 
only professionally, but individually. And no one can 
be affirmed to be really useful, in the highest sense, 
in any case, wherein these depths of human wretched- 
ness — the spiritual depths — have not been explored. 

II. The requisites and motives to personal usefulness. 

Usefulness, as we have seen, admits not only of 
degrees, but of variety. There are varied walks of 



PERSONAL USEFULNESS. 97 

usefulness. Whatever our sphere may be, it is our 
duty to feel that we are there to fulfil the universal 
law of creation, namely, — to be useful. And we 
are so, just as we perform aright all relative duty, 
under the influence of love to God and love to man. 
We may be said to be useful passively when we 
bear the image of our maker, and when the soul 
within is holy and beautiful. We are useful in- 
directly when we follow out the calling we have 
chosen, showing a pattern of humble and devoted 
industry. We are actively useful when, under the 
influence of benevolence or Christian principle, we 
interpose our services to relieve the indigent and 
miserable. And we are useful in the highest sense 
when the soul and its interests are our chief concern. 

Thus it will be seen that the first great essential 
requisite is personal piety. This cannot be dispensed 
with, in forming a right view of personal usefulness, 
The connection between being good and doing good, 
in a worthy sense, is inseparable; and wherever a 
distinguished place has been reached in the walks 
of christian benevolence, the foundation w411 be found 
in personal devotedness. A personal change of heart 
is needed for safe living and dying ; and it is needed 
as the motive-spring to continuous labour and self- 
devotedness in doing good. We mean not to afiirm 
that no one has ever proved useful, even in the 
highest sense, without personal religion. The act 

H 



98 ESSAYS. 

may be overruled for good, while love to God, or 
the right motive, may be awanting, for 

" He moYes in a mysterious way, 
His wonders to perform." 

And "he makes even the wrath of man to praise 
him." But all, in such a case, is uncertainty — nothing 
to be trusted; for no one can seek with eagerness 
that others should be relieved of a burden which 
they regard and treat as imaginary ; nor that those 
should be brought to life whom they do not believe 
to be dead, and who themselves have never been 
quickened from spiritual torpor and death. 

The truth of this important connection between 
personal piety and signal usefulness might be easily 
proved and illustrated. Look at the illustrious 
Chalmers, who ran a high and brilliant career, which 
has rarely been surpassed. When and where was 
it that his career of usefulness commenced? It was 
not when, at St. Andrew's, he began his public course 
with all the ardour of his powerful mind, and threw 
the lights of his imagination around the science which 
he loved and taught, remote though it be from all 
the flowers of poesy. It was not (jven when he 
opened his lips to publish good tidings to men; nor 
even when he was set apart at Kilmany to the work 
of the holy ministry. According to his own showing, 
personal religion was all this time awanting. It 



PERSONAL USEFULNESS. 99 

was when sickness came, and self- scrutiny and 
grace came, and with grace, heaven-born light and 
heaven-born love — that his spiritual bonds were 
broken — that he arose as a noble soldier of the cross, 
having inhaled in his conversion the pure and holy 
atmosphere of Christian philanthropy and love. 

Turn to Luther, that bold and intrepid reformer. 
See him in the monastery at Erfurt submitting to the 
severest penances and most degrading humiliations. 
Think of him poring over the pages of a Bible, 
chained in that monastery, lest the light should 
be published beyond its walls. Light from above 
shines on that hitherto darkened mind. The 
Bible, by the grace of God, is taken into his heart, 
and the lines of truth are deeply engraven on his 
soul. Then and there it was that the spirit 
of true usefulness was evoked ; and then it began 
to burn with resistless ardour in his soul. He 
now went forth like an angel of power and mercy, 
and proclaimed '' deliverance to the captive, and 
the opening of the prison to those that were 
bound." Though persecuted on every side, and 
threatened with the dungeon and death, he held on 
his adventurous way, till the very Popedom quaked 
under his reiterated strokes. "^Yhen summoned before 
his persecutors he nobly stood the day of trial. '' I 
have learned from the fountain — I can do no other- 



100 ESSAYS. 

wise, so help me God," witnessed this great and good 
man. 

And, not to multiply examples, think of the great 
apostle of the Gentiles. What was the turning point 
in his personal history and personal usefulness? 
The germ of it was found on the way to Damascus, 
and associated therewith: "Lord, what wilt thou 
have me to do?" and, "Behold he prayeth." Such 
was the turning point in the history of Paul, and the 
commencement of that marvellous and eminently useful 
career, at the termination of which he could say, " I 
have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, 
I have kept the faith." Yet we may not forget that 
this beginning of days and usefulness is the concern of 
youth — is the concern of all. Now^ not to-morrow^ is 
the watchword of Scripture. 

Yfhile, however, piety is the great essential here, 
and worthy of full illustration, yet there are other 
considerations that cannot fail to increase and enhance 
the ability to be useful; such as the possession of 
talents, wealth, knowledge, &c. A¥e have all been 
gifted by the God of nature, with talents varying 
in character and degree. It is ours assiduously 
to cultivate and improve them according to our oppor- 
tunities. These, like the steward mentioned in the 
parable, we are not to bury in the earth, but must 
put out to profitable use, so that they may be well 



PKIISONAL USEFULNESS. 101 

accounted for at the coming of the master ; and tlieir 
highest use is that which issues in the immortal weal 
of man. We are not accountable for the original gift, 
but we are responsible for its improvement; and a well- 
cultivated mind cannot fail to enhance the ability to 
be useful among our fellow-men. The possession of 
knowledge, too, tends greatly to strengthen the ability 
of being useful. Man has naturally a thirst for know- 
ledge. He no sooner begins to think than he desires 
to know. Knowledge is to be coveted for its own 
sake; but it is in its application that man becomes 
wise and useful. " Knowledge is power" — varied 
power — physical, mental, and spiritual. It is diversi- 
fied in its sources as well as in its kinds and degrees. 
Observation, experience, reflection, and books are 
some of these sources. It should be the endeavour of 
every one that his knowledge, while it is varied in 
kind, should also be select — that his mental aliment, 
while it is well digested, should be of a really bracing 
and useful description. We have not limits here to 
speak of books ; but we may remark in passing, that 
it is the conviction of those who have read most, that 
there is scarcely any kind of secular reading so re- 
munerative as select history, combining at one view, 
as it does, literature, vaned wisdom, and providence, 
in attractive, living form ; such, for instance, as we 
find in the brilliant pages of Macaulay, who is, per- 



102 ESSAYS. 

haps, the most beautiful literary and historical painter 
of this or of any age. 

As regards motives to usefulness, we can only throw 
out a thought or two without illustration. It is the 
commanded duty of every one to be useful in his own 
sphere, according to his opportunity; and this should 
determine the question of motive. It is not optional — 
it is imperative — it is the highest object for which we 
can live — ^to make our light to shine, the light of 
knowledge, the light of truth, and, above all, the light 
of divine truth. We may not be remiss : it is at our 
peril if w^e are negligent or indifferent, and place that 
knowledge under a bushel. Angels are useful. This 
is their life, and it should be ours. They are '' all 
ministering spirits, sent forth to minister to those who 
shall be heirs of salvation." Ministering to the church, 
and advancing the cause of divine truth on earth, is, 
in the estimation of those bright intelligences, the 
highest form of life, the most dignified, the most 
blissful. It is the true way to be happy here and 
hereafter. The secret of happiness is in the heart. 
It centres in love to God and love to man, and in the 
opening and expanding sympathies of the soul to all 
that is good, and beautiful, and true, and in throbbing 
with responsive beat to the wants and miseries of 
humanity. And if even a heathen could say, opening 
his heart in sympathy to all around him, " I am a 



PERSONAL USEFULNESS. 103 

man, and nothing human is alien to mj regard," how 
much more does it become those whose torch has been 
lighted at the altar of divine truth, and whose hearts 
are warmed, or ought to be, with heaven's love, to 
adopt the sentiment, and seek to obtain the divine 
commendation — he *'did what he could," and secure 
at last that gracious welcome, '' well done," w^hen 
time and its interests shall have passed away. 

January, 1861. 



104 



INSTINCT.* 

By which of the proposed theories can the phenomena of 
Instinct he most satisfactorily explained"? 

What faculties analagovs to those in man are possessed 
by the inferior animals? 

Men are peculiarly liable to run into extremes ; 
and independence of intellect, in itself so desirable, 
has yet a tendency, wben not kept within proper 
bounds, to warp the mind, so as to veil the truth 
from view, or direct it into paths that lead astray. 
History and philosophy furnish us with cases not a 
few, in which, when the error of one course has been 
clearly disclosed, straightway some other has been 
adopted and pursued, with the same fearless steps, to 
its ultimate results. But truth is rarely to be found 
in extremes of any sort ; and that is equally a false 
philosophy which, with the phantom of refined 
analysis always before it, would reduce all things 
to a paucity of elements, that to the unprejudiced 
mind must indeed appear meagre and unlikely, with 

* Written for the Moral Philosophy Class, Novemher, 1852. 



INSTINCT. 105 

that Tvhich, witli little or no refinement or generalis- 
ation at all, would present as its creed, a mere 
collation of facts, or bundle of hypotheses. In no 
class of theories has the tendency alluded to been more 
fruitful of error, than those which have reference to 
the human mind. Nor, were it here our object, would 
it be difficult to account for the phenomenon, or to 
produce instances in which it is manifest. 

We do not doubt that theories regarding instinct 
which arose out of Locke's denial of innate ideas on the 
one hand, and those which took their rise from the 
views of Dr. Ilutcheson on the other, will suggest them- 
selves in illustration. And, while we admit that man, 
in common with the irrational animals, is possessed 
of instincts, we cannot but reject the doctrine which 
explains every phenomenon of mind, by supposing a 
separate instinct to account for its production. Ad- 
mitting, then, that man is influenced by instinct, as 
one spring of action, we go with more interest to the 
inquiry of what this principle is, and what theory 
best accounts for its phenomena. These phenomena 
are, confessedly, amongst the most curious and won- 
derful in the natural world. All are more or less 
attracted by the singularity of the appearances pre- 
sented to our consideration. And yet, most content 
themselves with noting the mere facts, without any 
attempt to penetrate into the causes which gave them 
birth. Comparatively few are arrested by any desire 



106 ESSAYS. 

to account for the strange and remarkable phenomena, 
or seek to discover the laws to which they are 
referable. Are these facts to be referred to some law 
in the physical, or are they rather to be traced to 
some law in the mental world? If to the latter, in 
what form does the mental operate ? Is it the effect 
of a living principle implanted in the agent ; or is the 
living creature a mere piece of animal mechanism, 
acting as it is acted upon by a direct influence foreign 
to itself? These, and questions akin to these, so 
obvious and striking, are but seldom referred to, and 
have received even from naturalists and philosophers 
much less attention than those pertaining to the mere 
phenomena. It must be admitted, however, that they 
are questions that are fitted not a little to perplex, and 
to which it is by no means easy to give a satisfactory 
reply. 

According to its derivation from the Greek word 
(Tr/^s/v to prick (pungere), the term instinct denotes 
an impulse from within. Originally it was employed 
so as to include movements that are more properly 
merely automatic or mechanical, embracing, for ex- 
ample, the act of breathing, and the action of the 
heart in animals, and even including the analogous 
motions or changes in vegetables. There is, however, 
we apprehend, a real distinction between instinctive 
actions and those that are merely mechanical, which, if 
recognised, will limit the term instinctive to living 



INSTINCT. 107 

beings : it is, that instinctive actions imply spontaneity 
on the part of an agent, whereas the other implies no 
such spontaneity, nor, indeed, the principle of life at 
all, and is mechanism simply. Instinct has been 
described — and thus we distinguish it from reason 
— as acting without teaching, without experience, 
and without a knowledge of consequences ; for it is 
blind, and accomplishes a purpose of which (at least 
so far as investigation and analogy would lead us to 
believe) the animal is wholly ignorant. That instincts 
arise not from instruction or experience is evident 
from many facts which might be adduced. Chickens, 
for example, hatched in an oven, act in precisely the 
same way as those reared by the hen. The young 
colony of bees set to work just as their progenitors 
did ten centuries ago ; nor can we conceive of their 
parents teaching, in a few hours, the many thousands 
to do what involves the greatest mathematical accuracy, 
and would infer, on their part, the greatest mathema- 
tical aptitude. Dr. Reid speaks of instincts being had 
by "a. kind of inspiration ;" and the animal is inspired, 
not with the principles or rules of the art, but with 
the ability and incHnation of working in it to per- 
fection, without any knowledge of its principles, 
rules, or ends. Looking at instinct with reference 
to its final cause, it may, we think, be exhaustively 
defined, '' The power or energy by which all organised 
forms are preserved in the individual, or continued 



108 ESSAYS. 

in the species." The different theories that have 
been advanced to account for the phenomena, here 
may be reduced to three classes, viz., the physical^ 
the psychical^ and the hyperpsychical. Let us examine — 

First The physical theories, or those which account 
for the operations of instinct bj the bodily structure 
and organisation of the inferior animals. There are 
three modes of holding this view. Instinct has been 
regarded as simply the mechanical play of bodily 
organs. Such was the view of Descartes. "I have 
diligently inquired," says he, " whether all the motions 
of animals come from two principles or from only 
one ; and as I find it clear that they arise from that 
principle alone which is corporeal or mechanical, 
I can by no means allow to them a thinking soul." 
And, as to cunning and sagacity, or what we should 
call animal intelligence, Descartes professes to explain 
them '' by the sole conformation of the animal's limbs." 
Brutes, by this view, are brought to the level of 
mere machines ; and we are left at a loss to know 
whether the principle of life ever manifests itself 
in voluntary activity at all, or even makes the 
animal conscious that it is. 

But the physical theory has been held in a higher 
form — in that, namely, which explains instinct by 
irritability, or a natural capacity of experiencing a 
sense of want or uneasiness. This has been preferred 



INSTINCT. 109 

by some to the sensation theory, because instincts are 
found to be very numerous in animals, (chiefly insects), 
that are totally destitute of the usual organs of sensation. 
"The life," it is said, ''is the law according to which 
the phenomena of pure instinct are developed." A step 
still higher here conducts us to the sensation theory, 
held by Kirkby, Bushnan, and others. According 
to it, "Instinctive actions have their source, each in 
some uneasy sensation, arising from a specific irri- 
tation, and urging animals to take the only proper 
means of getting rid of it." This view may be 
regarded as simple, and most in accordance with our 
preconceived opinions ; and yet it seems to us to be 
surrounded by peculiar and somewhat inexplicable 
difficulties. Can it possibly be made to account for 
all the phenomena? And, if so, are not the assump- 
tions by which it is made to account for them, 
gratuitous or unlikely? How would sensations or 
pulses upon the brain and nervous system explain 
the phenomena of the bees, plying their busy trade, 
in constructing a new and beauteous whole, formed 
to the most perfect ideal model ; or the instinct of 
the solitary wasp, in depositing her egg in a hole 
in the earth, and by it a collection of grubs on 
which she herself never feeds, but on which the 
waspworm, after emerging from the shell, subsists, 
till ready to fly oflf and seek its own sustenance 
from herbs and flowers? Were the facts of a mere 



110 ESSAYS. 

commonplace description few in number, and pre- 
senting little or no variety, this hypothesis would 
present less diffictilty. But the very opposite of 
all this is the truth; and if sensations account for 
the facts, they must needs be endlessly diversified. 

Again, some of the phenomena are astonishing in 
their mental aspect, and present a striking as well 
as pleasing diversity. Coleridge spoke of instinct 
as the " power of selecting and adapting means to 
a proximate end." Nothing is more obvious than 
that which we call mind is directly implied. Indeed, 
the striking peculiarity of instinct is not the physical 
but the mental peculiarity — a peculiarity which 
presents a double aspect, as brought out in the 
definition. There is an end or design of operation 
most wise and beneficent, and then there are the 
fittest means employed to gain that end. How else 
could we define consummate wisdom^ but " employing 
the best means to gain the best end ? " Instinct, then, 
is a species of consummate wisdom; but this implies 
mental attributes, not only of a real, but of no common 
order. And so is it if we turn to some of the more 
remarkable of the phenomena in question, such as 
the labour of the bee, of the solitary wasp, or of the 
ant, or the beaver building his cabin in the woods, 
or of the bird after its kind, building her nest with 
such perfect precision and skill, in which to deposit 
her egg and rear her young. To say that operations 



INSTINCT. Ill 

like these, bearing the impress of such remarkable 
and nice intelligence, can be resolved into some aspect 
of the physical, such as animal mechanism, irritability, 
or sensation, seems a confounding of things essentially 
distinct, a converting of mind into matter, and matter 
into mind at will. 

Psychical Theory. Those who favour the psychical 
theory in regard to instinct, refer the phenomena to 
powers of mind in the lower animals analogous to 
those of understanding and reason in man. Some 
writers, indeed, would break down the barrier of mere 
analogy altogether, and regard the brutes as endowed 
with powers of reasoning which are not different in 
kind from the human, but employed wdth fewer ideas. 
Such was the view propounded in Dr. Darwin's 
" Zoonomia," his answer to which first brought Dr. 
Thomas Brown into notice. In contradistinction to 
the view taken by Darwin is that of ]Mi\ Smellie, who, 
instead of tracing instincts to reason, maintained that 
reason itself is a mere bundle of instincts. But the 
facts which have been ascertained and authenticated 
on this subject, go entirely to set aside, we think, 
the opinion of Mr. SmeUie, and to mark the original 
and essential difference between these powers. For 
example, facts teU us that the insect and bird do, 
without instruction and experience, what man could 
only do by long training and experience ; that they 



1 1 2 ESSAYS. 

work to an end of which they are ignorant ; and with- 
out definitely aiming at anything, they yet produce 
that which is precise, and, we might say, perfect in 
kind. How different from men, who, acting knowingly 
and of design, yet at best act only well ! The volition 
in the lower animals is blind volition. They will not 
the end, nor are they intelligently conscious of the 
means. They are blind actors in this sense, although 
they act perfectly. Now, if instinct be blind volition — 
a design without a designer (as regards the agent), 
then in instinct you have not intelligence, and intelli- 
gence cannot therefore explain it. We are not here 
denying intelligence to the lower animals, or faculties 
analogous to those pertaining to the human. What we 
affirm is, that instinct is ignorant alike of means and 
ends ; while it belongs to the very nature of intelli- 
gence to be conversant with both. And if it were 
intelligence in some form, it would cease to be instinct. 

Next, we have the hyperpsychical theories, which 
explain the phenomena by regarding them as the 
results of an intelligence different from the human, 
which emanates upon the inferior animals from the 
Supreme Being. This doctrine may be perverted, and 
was held in very absurd form, as we think, by some of 
the scholastics. But when we consider that, in some 
shape, it was the matured opinion of so close a student 
of nature as Sir Isaac Newton, we are constrained to 



INSTINCT. 113 

give it attention. He finds the explanation of the 
phenomena in '^ the continual and universal presence 
of a living intelligent Spirit." The Deity himself is 
the primum mobile. He is not represented as the soul 
of brutes, for Newton does not refuse the brutes mind ; 
but only as present, " governing and guiding, by his 
prevailing power and will." He would not deny that 
the brutes act from some thinking principle diiFerent 
from the strictly material, but they act towards an end 
with reference to which they have no knowledge or 
design. 

Brutes may come to a knowledge of inferior ends ; 
but the ultimate end is that which manifests de- 
sign, and is, in truth, sufficient for the two great 
purposes of instinct — the preservation of indivi- 
duals and the continuance of the kind. The solitary 
wasp, for example, intends to deposit her eggs and 
the caterpillars in the earth, and she knows that she 
does so ; but there is a further knowledge and a gi^and 
design of which the creature is altogether ignorant. 
Have we not here " a spectacle, where the Supreme 
Artist is liid behind the curtain?" Here is mind at 
work which is not in the animal ; knowledge of means 
and ends which is perfect ; an agent performing what 
is most useful and important, when the immediate aim 
was of no account, and entirely subordinate. 

What shall we say then ? We allow all the original 
adaptation of the physical frame to the objects of the 



114 ESSAYS. 

various instincts, but, withal, would seek a link of con- 
nection with an adequate power. May there not be 
some hidden special law that looks to the presiding 
Divine intelligence? We own the Divine ubiquity. He 
is everywhere present in His power and in His wisdom. 
We live in Him, and have our being. How, then, may 
there not be a closer link, as regards that wisdom, 
between these irrationals, than with human beings? 
He may act on the physical thus nearly, and yet 
according to some uniform law that is hid. We can- 
not divest ourselves of the opinion expressed by the 
poet, that, in instinct, it is more immediately God that 
acts, and we would ask with him, in words that sug- 
gest their own answer — 

" Who made the spider parallels design, 
Sure as Demoivre, without rule or line ? 
Who bid the stork, Columbus like, explore 
Heavens not his own, and worlds unkno^vn before ? 
Who calls the council, states the certain day ? 
Who foims the phalanx, and who points the way ? " 

On the Second head of inquiry our limits call on 
us to be brief. 

As regard the traces of intelligence found among 
the lower tribes, these have been often exaggerated 
to excite wonder; while, on the other hand, in the 
endeavour to account for them, there has sometimes 
been displayed an unnecessary jealousy or prejudice, 



INSTINCT. 115 

lest we should seem to narrow the line of separation 
between man and the lower animals. But this line 
of separation is so marked and broad that we need 
be under no apprehension on this head. Here we 
can point not only to reason but to conscience, and 
the religious capacity in man, as his high and 
distinguishing attributes, placing him far apart from 
the most sagacious of the other tribes. But while 
it is so, no one can refuse that among the lower 
animals there are found mental faculties, which, 
although not identical in kind, as some think, are 
yet very similar ; nay, so like as scarcely to be 
distinguishable. What are these? Sensation has 
sometimes been called a faculty, although it is merely 
the result of an impression on some bodily organ 
communicated to the brain, the seat of thought or 
percipient mind, and is the condition of our first 
mental movements. And if this be a prior condition 
of the percipient, we must often have observed that 
the lower animals have it in a superior degree. The 
senses of smell, sight, and hearing, are often possessed 
by them in a remarkable manner. But beyond these 
acute sensations, there is found also the percipient 
mind, or the conscious cognitive of the external ; and 
along with the conscious cognitive, there are corres- 
ponding feelings of fear, anger, affection — feelings that 
can only spring from a thinking, conscious substance. 
A dog, for example, not only feels but knows when 



IIG ESSAYS. 

he is in the chain, or scampering by his master's side, 
and gives the most unequivocal signs of that know- 
ledge, as well as decided proof of varied sagacity, 
that cannot be brought under the head of mere 
instinct. 

Some allege that these inferior tribes cannot 
rise above the power or act of simply perceiving 
some object presented to their senses; but, although 
generally held, we question if this be a correct view. 
It is quite certain, we allow, that they have no 
reasoning power — no power to compare two objects 
or ideas, so as to judge of their agTcement or other- 
wise. But we are not prepared to coincide with 
the opinion, that they have no capacity to abstract 
one idea or obiect from another. We think, on the 
contrary, that they have the power of abstraction, 
although not of generalisation leading to abstract 
ideas. This power they may possess in a very 
inferior degree, yet this inferiority of power does not 
argue the entire destitution of it. If the horse can 
identify and select his stall out of many, and the 
dog recognise his master in a crowd, this surely 
evinces not only intelligence, but a power of comparing 
and electing one object rather than another. . Nothing 
strictly physical can explain this. Besides sensation 
and perception, therefore, we are inclined to the 
notion that they have also the power of abstraction 
in a very inferior degree — just as we find among 



INSTINCT. 117 

the untutored tribes of the wilderness, whose thoughts 
and aspu'ations scarcely rise above these. 

This leads us to observe that brutes are possessed 
of memory, and many of them in a wonderful degree. 
The " memory of the horse " is proverbial, where 
a single incident on a road or some bye-path, is 
remembered for years after coming under the ob- 
servation of the animal — the laAV of contiguity 
seeming vividly to call up the past. In this view 
we see not that it differs from human, except in 
accuracy and vividness. There is, however, another 
aspect of this power, usually called recollection, that 
they do not possess. If memory acts with them 
at all, it is immediate. They have no power, by 
an act of will, to recall what may have happened. 
The attempt, so far as we know, is never made 
by them. It belongs to man to fall back upon the 
laws of association ; and, by an effort of attention 
and will, to bring forth anon, Avhat was for the 
moment lost to the treasures of memory. The only 
law of association which the lower animals own, seems 
to be that of nearness of person or place. Memory, 
then, in the sense explained, they have ; recollection. 
or imagination, they have not. 

Our conclusion therefore is, that while the lower 
animals have intelligence in the forms we have at- 
tempted to indicate, these forms are few in number 
and limited in degree. But we are not prepared to 



118 ESSAYS. 

say that that intelligence, so far as it goes, differs in 
kind, as many have supposed. There is no necessity 
or call for such an allegation, as there does not seem 
to be any sufficient ground for it. K the distinctive 
attributes, reason, conscience, religion, be kept in view 
as the high prerogative of the human soul, it cannot 
be said that we tread on incautious ground in saying 
that the mental faculties of these inferior tribes, 
although limited in degree, yet seem not to differ in 
kind or quality from those in man. 

Jacobus Paterson, Minor. 



26th November, 1852. 



119 



MILITARY GENIUS.* 

The subject on which we are now to make a few 
observations is '^ Military Genius" — one interesting in 
itself as well as seasonable and appropriate at the 
present moment. A great military chief has recently 
been taken from us, and passed away amid the grief 
and benedictions of his country, having a world-wide 
reputation as the hero of a hundred fights. Now 
that the agitation is subsiding, and the nation has 
spoken out on the merits of the departed, it may be 
well for us, in this connection, calmly and deliberately 
to fall back, without prejudice or prepossession, and 
to examine this subject in its primary elements, so as 
to have some clear and just notions regarding it, 
really as well as relatively. In this view, such ques- 
tions as these will fall to be answered: What is 
genius ? Wliat are some of the different orders of genius ? 
And what place among these orders are we to assign to 
the military f 

Following this train of thought, our first question 
is. What is genius? It is a term oft quoted, and 

* Prepared for Montrose Street Young Men's Society, November, 1852. 



120 ESSAYS. 

usually quoted only to be misapplied. Many appear 
to think genius inseparable from certain eccentricities 
in its possessor. And hence it not seldopi happens, 
not only that this is looked for as an inseparable 
accompaniment, but that the existence of the eccen- 
tricity is regarded as the seal and pledge of the 
genius. Such at least seem to be the views of 
the perspicacious youths who, in the heat of their 
aspirations, scruple not to adopt the awkward gait or 
meditative look of their most admired model. How 
many Candlishes has the Free Church ! How many 
Wilsons has the Edinburgh College produced ! Some, 
indeed, have thought that the eccentricities of genius 
should be " sui generis^^' and acting out the theory, 
have made it their business to hit on something in 
manner or in conduct decidedly out of the common. 
In society it may lead such to an entire disregard of 
all the ordinary rules of politeness, minute attention 
to these betraying, in their estimate, a flippancy of 
character quite inconsistent with their breadth of 
soul. 

But passing this, many seem to regard genius as 
synonymous with talent; and, accordingly, in common 
phrase, he who is decidedly superior in anything is 
usually said to have a genius for it. Now, it seems to 
us that there is a lowering of the term here. It is not 
used in its proper or full stretch of meaning. There 
is an important element awanting. Men of genius are, 



MILITARY GENIUS. 121 

no doubt, usually men of talent, but not conversely ; 
and many a work may be said to be talented that 
could not, but by the abuse of words, be said to dis- 
play genius. Indeed, it could only be by a kind of 
colloquial sanction that, in this respect, the word 
should ever have been so much misapplied. Genius, 
we think, necessarily includes the element of creative 
power — creative, that is, in the sense in which we 
speak of creative imagination — combining existing 
materials into new and Avondrous forms, as when 
jMilton created his '' Eden" and his " Pandemonium." 
Mere talent, as we understand it, consists in a superior 
mental penetration, which may or may not be united 
to a sound judgment, and is very much an acquired 
power. 

Genius, on the other hand, goes beyond this, 
and consists, as appears to us, of a happy and rare 
union of various faculties, born with us, not acquired. 
" Poeta nascitur non fit^ It especially claims kindred 
with imagination, which, going out on strong and 
exultant wing, ranges from earth to heaven, and from 
heaven to earth, not only penetrating into the depths, 
as if by intuition, but formmg new ideal worlds out of 
things that do appear. In this sense it is beautifully 
creative, but only in this sense. In the strict sense 
God alone is creative. The difference betwixt the 
human and Divine may be easily illustrated. Take, 
for example, a flower — the emblem of beauty — with 



122 ESSAYS. 

its mixed lovely tints. That originally was a creation : 
it is an expressed idea originally existing in the mind 
of the Uncreated. It has been well said that " Ideas 
rule the universe." All we see is the product as well 
as the emblem of thought, all primarily taking their 
rise from Him in whom all ideas centre, and who is 
Himself the very perfection of beauty, natural as well 
as spiritual. This is creative genius in the highest 
and strictest sense. The human, again, which may 
have been quickened with the kindred ethereal fire, 
cannot add a new flower to the garden of beauty ; but 
it can, like the industrious bee, with rapid wing pass 
from flower to flower, and gather material from each, 
with which, with matchless skiU, to construct a new 
and beauteous whole, which at once surprises and 
delights us. In this sense the man of genius is a 
glorious combiner out of things already existing, 
whether appertaining to the material or spiritual. So 
much, then, for what we understand by genius. 

And what now, it may he asked, are some of the 
different orders of genius? That there are different 
orders requires no proof, although it may be somewhat 
difficult precisely to point out what they have all in 
common, and, at the same time, their specific differ- 
ences. All seem to agree in this, as has been said, 
that their possessors are naturally gifted with a pecu- 
liar and rare combination of faculties, holding that 



MILITARY GENIUS. 123 

there is no new element introduced into our mental 
being. Yet differences there may be, and differences 
there are, in the marked bias, inclination, or promi- 
nence of some one capability over another. 

It may not be easy to give a classification of these 
orders that would be adequate and distinct. The 
following, however, will serve our present purpose, 
viz., philosophic, poetic, oratorical, and scientific. 

By philosophic genius, we mean a peculiar innate 
aptitude that irresistibly propels inquiry regarding 
the laws and operations of the human mind. Such 
was Kant among the Germans ; and coming nearer 
home, we find fit representatives of this order in 
John Locke and Thomas Reid. 

By poetic genius, we understand that soul-stirring 
impulse which goes out on imagination's wing and 
revels in the world of beauty, being to the true poet 
''a joy for ever." At the same time, there is in 
this order a marvellous diversity of type. 

As to the oratorical order, it seems to consist in that 
kindled and kindling enthusiasm which, in its highest 
form, claims empii'e over the passions and wills of men, 
revealing itself in rapid, flaming ratiocination, and 
lightning glances, that storm at once the intellect and 
the heart. Take, as representatives of this order 
among the ancients, Demosthenes and Cicero. The 
former " wielding at will the fierce democracy " of 
Greece — the furor or rage of whose eloquence all 



124 ESSAYS. 

but maddened the spirits of his countrymen, and 
nerved the arm that struck the triumphant blow at 
Marathon and Thermopylae : the latter exhibiting an 
almost perfect mastery over every form of the ora- 
torical art. Among the moderns we have Chatham, 
coming nearer to the great Grecian model than 
perhaps any other orator that England has produced. 
The reign of George III. was peculiarly prolific of 
this order of genius, which has led Campbell to point 
to them as '' England's gigantic race of men." Yet 
none of them could match the fulminations of a 
Chatham's genius. His illustrious son, William Pitt 
—who came upon the stage of public affairs a mere 
youth, at once, as if by instinct and with one bound, 
entering on the highest walks of eloquence — is yet 
not to be held equal to his renowned sire in the 
impassioned energy of lofty declamation. Fox, again, 
though inferior in some respects to his great rival, 
Pitt, was, nevertheless, as we think, his superior in 
brilliance and true genius, yet still falling short of 
the intense magical force of Chatham or Demosthenes, 
who literally awed intellects of the highest order into 
submission by the storm of their eloquent invective. 

Next, according to our classification, comes to be 
noted scientific genius, which we distinguish from the 
philosoi:)hic in this, that it has matter — rather than 
mind — as its object, embracing what are usually 
designated the exact sciences ; and including such 



mLITARY GENIUS. 125 

forms as chemical, medical, astronomical, geological, 
and mechanical. We have placed the scientific last in 
order, inasmuch as we think that the military must 
rank with it rather than with any of the others. We 
conceive that it is very much akin to the last here 
mentioned, viz., mechanical. For what, it may be 
asked, is the peculiar office of the mechanician? 
Is it not to discover the energy and forces of the 
mat-erial world, which are so endlessly varied? He 
has specially to do, so to speak, with the activities 
of matter, and with the resultants of these activities. 
And this is precisely the province of the warrior chief; 
so that his genius, whatever it may be, is certainly 
akin to the mechanical. The subject matter on 
which he operates is physical force — the laws and 
forces of the physical as drawn up in battle array. 
No doubt, there is the magic of mental influence 
and control, more potent in the dread hour of com- 
bat than the war song; but still, the peculiar sphere 
in which the soul of the warrior ranges is among 
the motions and counter-motions of human bodies. 
The military genius scans vrith intensest scrutiny 
the resources of his foe, in the ideal as well as in 
the actual; he marks in. campaign his strongholds 
and unguarded places; he surmounts the obstacles 
of nature, and leads his armies over mountains and 
floods ; he guesses at the councils of his enemy, 



126 ESSAYS. 

and aims to forestall them; in battle lie looks on 
with calm fortitude, yet alert anxiety; and as he marks 
the movements of the encountering hosts, seeks to 
take advantage of every favourable opportunity, of 
every false position. His eye in such circumstances 
had needs be clear, and his intellect unclouded. 
Like Napoleon — ^in war so " bold, original, creative " 
— he behoves to display a capacity of estimating 
accurately stupendous relations, and to put forth an 
energy equal to his estimates and aims. To such 
an one, who shall deny the appellation of genius'? 
Genius there is, bold, calculating, energetic. But 
now the question recurs which we started at the 
outset, viz : — 

As there are gradations of genius, both in kind and 
degree, What rank does the military hold among the 
different orders f You easily anticipate the answer ; 
for who would for a moment compare the sublime 
creations of a Milton with the earth-born machinations 
of a Bonaparte ? Sublime indeed are the creations of 
Milton, as he ranges with daring wing through the 
abysses of the nether world, and anon rises in high 
careering flight, and, passing far beyond the "visible 
diurnal sphere," conducts to the regions of immortality, 
where, standing erect on the crystal battlements, his 
eye in a "fine frenzy rolling," he sees the myriad 



MILITARY GENIUS. 127 

hosts of flaming cherubim doing homage to heaven's 
King, and " hears a voice, loud as from numbers 
without number, sweet as from blest spirits uttering 
joy, while the vaults of heaven ring jubilee, and loud 
hosannas fill the eternal regions." No one can com- 
pare with such lofty creations the conquests of a 
Caesar, or the achievements of a Napoleon, acting as 
they did on the grosser materials of earth, and 
occupied as they were with the lower passions and 
activities of man. As the ethereal transcends, in 
beauty and interest, the material and the physical, so 
does the genius that claims kindred with the former 
transcend in dignity and beauty the genius that 
claims kindred with the latter. Hence it too fre- 
quently happens that the Prince in War has little or 
no sympathy with things great and high, and often 
occupies a very subordinate place for counsel and 
capacity in times of peace. 

True it is that to this there are exceptions, and 
these we are called to note ; for, not unfrequently, 
more than one type of genius will be found in the 
same indi\ddual. As, for example, a Plato, who 
possessed the sublime aspirations of a Milton, 
together mth the philosophy of a Bacon ; or a 
Caesar, who was great in the state, and great in 
letters, as well as in the field. Nor need we turn to 
Greece or Rome for examples of this. The illustrious 



128 ESSAYS. 

de23arted Wellington, the pageantry of whose funeral 
obsequies has yet to be displayed to view, certainly 
exemplified a rare and varied combination of power. 
Great unquestionably he was in the science and art 
of war, as his brilliant successes testify ; but as truly 
was he great in council, and in the administration of 
civil affairs, as he was greater still and greater far in 
his unbending integrity and unvarying self-devotedness 
to the interests of his country. As a man, as a states- 
man, and as a hero, the name of Wellington will go 
down to distant ages, crowned with a garland of un- 
sullied fame and undying renown, and be long 
embalmed in the historic page (as now in the hearts 
of thousands) as identified with the fortunes and 
glories of his country. 

And here, perhaps, we ought to close, seeing that 
we have already occupied so much of your time ; but 
we cannot refrain adding a sentence or two by way of 
reprobation, regarding what may be called the stock 
in trade of this same military genius, viz., war. We 
have spoken out our mind regarding the subordinate 
place that it holds in the scale of the gifted ; and while 
Ave are not here to depreciate genius of whatever 
order, yet, let us never forget that the triumphs of 
military genius are gained, how ? Over the appalling 
heaps of the dying and the dead — over the countless 
multitudes of the slain ; that its highest laurels are 



MILITARY GENIUS. 120 

gathered amid carnage and blood, and the expiring 
agonies of precious immortals, hurried away as in a 
moment to their great account ; that its richest trophies 
are won, not only over the heaps of the slain, but over 
the wailings and the lamentations of the bereaved 
and the desolate — of the widowed and the fatherless 
refusing to be comforted ! What can we say, then, 
but that it is a capacity that feeds on elements that 
are not from above, but from below. All war has 
its origin somehow or somewhere in injustice, cruelty, 
oppression, selfishness, and the worst passions of our 
nature. Misery and desolation are in its path. Who, 
then, would not w^sh to see the demon driven from 
this globe of ours, down to its native Pandemonium 
whence it sprung? May we not then say, perish 
henceforth all military glory — perish military genius — 
perish from under the whole heaven every cause of 
cruelty and wrong : let the throne of right be estab- 
lished — let the affinities of the brotherhood be every- 
where acknowledged — let the humanising influences 
of Divine truth and peace everywhere prevail — let 
this same genius find a new and appropriate sphere — 
let it go forth on new and more lawful enterprises — 
let it go forth to give life, not to take it — let its high 
daring and lofty activities be concentrated upon what 
will tend to elevate and bless. Conquests won in 
such a field will be pure, satisfymg, and unfading — 
will outvie all the wealth and garniture of earth — will 

K 



130 ESSAYS. 

crown its possessors with immortal honour, and will 
cause them to shine in another firmament, far above 
sun and system, with unsullied and ever brightening 
radiance. What heart, then, sighs not for the happy 
predicted era when " wars shall cease to the ends of 
the earth" — when, in the words of sacred song, men 
shall "hang their trumpets in the hall^ and study war 
no more." 



131 



ON HUMAN PROGRESS.* 

We hear much at the present time about what is 
called ''Human Progress." We are not sure, how- 
ever, that the expression is so well understood as it is 
frequently repeated. There is certainly more compre- 
hended in human progress than many seem to imagine, 
and a great deal more than we undertake to indicate 
in the few remarks we are now to make. 

Many seem to regard progress as synonymous with 
varied human activity, forgetting that mere motion is 
not advancement. A door, for example, may be very 
active in turning on its hinges, and yet no progress 
made ; it remains in the same position still. The 
most bigoted conservatism is not in itself inconsistent 
with ceaseless and energetic activity. We are not, 
therefore, to confound a mere seeming with positive 
onward movement. AYhat, then, are some of the 
great interests of humanity in which we are to look 
for and seek progress or advancement ? 

There is, first of all, what some conceive highest, 
and others lowest in the scale, viz., mercantile progress, 

* Prepared for the Students' Missionarj^ Society, March, 1853. 



132 ESSAYS. 

taking in the temporalities of life, wealth, the inter- 
change of commodities amongst various nations, &c., 
ail tending to increase the comfort and personal well- 
being of the human species. Now, commerce, we 
need scarcely say, like everything else, has a history. 
It is traceable to small beginnings, but of what a 
marvellous growth can it now boast ! What astonish- 
ing golden heaps has it collected, and is it every day 
gathering in ! This secularism with too many is a 
passion, the god of their idolatry, and has given rise 
to a new phasis of infidelity, boldly showing its front 
in public discussion, whose motto is that of the old 
epicure, " Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we 
die." This surely is progress after a strange and 
most irrational fashion, concentrating all the energies 
of man on time, and allowing his soul, and the things 
of his immortal existence, to care for themselves. We 
rejoice in mercantile improvement and extension ; but 
verily it would be an evil, and not a good, were the 
time ever to come when it supplanted every other care 
and interest. Secularism is good in its own place, as 
a means to an end ; but it can never minister to the 
cravings of our spiritual being, or fill up the aching 
void of the human heart. Progress, therefore, in 
mere secularism would, after all, be a poor progress 
in which to glory, embracing, as it does, the mere 
passing interests of the present hour. 



ON HUMAN rROGRESS. 133 

A second and more elevated form of human progress 
is that of the scientific^ or varied knowledge reduced to 
a system. There can be no question that this kind 
of knowledge is highly desirable, and that great 
advancement in it has been made since the time w^hen 
Bacon introduced his '^ novum organuni^ — his new 
method of truth-searching. What marvels have been 
revealed in almost every department of science ! 
What astonishing precision, for example, has been 
brought to bear on the science of astronomy ! With 
equal scope and accuracy has the starry firmament 
been explored, and the laws of the stellar heavens 
ascertained. And, again, by the eager truth-seeker, 
the very bowels of mother earth have been opened, 
and, through the uniformity of nature's laws, she has 
been compelled to disclose some of the secrets of her 
birth and age. But w^e cannot here enumerate. We 
may only remark, in passing, the close connection 
that has been discovered to exist among all the 
sciences. It has been clearly made out that the 
sciences are all one family group, linked together by 
the closest bonds of affinity, and that now one and 
now another must take the precedence, in order to the 
appearance and progress of the third, and so of a 
fourth, and fifth, till w^e embrace the entire circle, 
which, when completed, will bring us to '' the mil- 
lennium of the sciences ! " These things it is interesting 
to know and contemplate. A millennium of the 



134 ESSAYS. 

sciences ! All the knowable connected with this 
" visible diurnal sphere " brought into the map of a 
visible certainty, and shining without a cloud in 
reason's eye. What a consummation to ages of mental 
toil ! What a triumph to the persevering energies of 
human genius! What a jubilee this to the sons of 
science ! " when science from creation's face enchant- 
ment's veil withdraws," and when that creation stands 
at length disclosed in her own naked majestic sim- 
plicity ! 

A third form of human progress is advancement 
in the arts. We have referred to a consummation of 
scientific discovery. The sciences are limited in 
number, and the certainty regarding them must have 
also definite limits ; not so the arts. We have 
no notion, in the same sense, of a millennium in 
reference to the arts, which take in endless com- 
binations of objects and forms of objects. The old 
world, we reckon, will go on in its new fashions and 
new dresses ; and here we shall continue to have 
something new under the sun, till the end of time. 
Crystal Palaces for exhibition will probably go on, 
and one palace ol art outvie another ; and to all 
this form of progress, as we conceive, we can neither 
speak of limit nor end. Amidst the endless variety 
of human tastes the imitations of nature in all its 
varied combinations are limitless. Do we, for example^ 



ON HUMAN PROGRESS. 135 

count poetry and painting amongst the fine arts ? 
Then new types of genius will arise, that will reveal 
new forms and shadows of things. A greatly 
quickened energy has taken place in this direction 
in our own day, which, as far as it goes, is a token 
for good, tending, as the arts do, to refine, elevate, 
and benefit humanity. 

Another form of progress that is highly desirable 
is educational — the most improved methods of drawing- 
out and disciplining the mental faculties. And no 
one will refuse that in these methods there has 
already been great progress, and that the interest that 
has been awakened on the subject, and the dis- 
cussions regarding it, seem to warrant the hope that 
we are on the high road to a greatly improved state 
of things here. 

But, we may ask, what will all these forms of 
human progress avail without the spiritual element ? 
The progress of the soul itself in faith and well-doing, 
as not only the proper preparation for well-being, 
but as entering essentially into it. This brings us 
to the last form of progress that we thought of 
mentioning, viz., the missionary^ which we regard as 
an essential and important branch of the spiritual. 
What would a millennium, or the aimed at con- 
summation of all mere secular knowledge and worldly 



136 ESSAYS. 

acquisitions, do for man, as a spiritual, moral, 
immortal being? It is, after all, the spiritual millen- 
nium that alone can elevate, and ennoble, and perfect 
humanity. This is the true divine progress, without 
which nothing else will sutfice. This is to raise the 
soul itself in well-doing and well-being, and to fit 
it for a new and endless life above. To know 
and love aright the beautiful and true, is, in the 
words of the poet, "a joy for ever;" and where shall 
we find aright the perfection of truth and beauty but 
in the infinite, personal One, in whose image we 
were made, and to whose image we must be brought 
back, in the way of His mercy revealed in His Word. 
What progress is there so interesting and important 
in the view of the enlightened and true-hearted as 
missionary progress ? — the progress of diffusing life 
and health amongst ignorant and perishing millions 
of our fellow-men. And we have no hesitation 
in saying, that missionary progress is one of the 
most hopeful signs of the times in Avhich we live. 
In this respect there has certainly been a greatly 
quickened energy in modern times, such as has 
not been since apostolic days. The question is now 
much better understood than formerly — information 
as to the extent of the need is more widely diffused 
— obligation is more generally and deeply felt — 
agencies and means are multiplying and multiplied — 
missionary societies in numberless branches are formed 



ON HUMAN riiOGRESS. 137 

and forming. All this is cheering. Nor is the 
interest confined, nor ought it to be confined, to the 
mere professional, or to those who have a standing 
in the church for age and knowledge. It is well to 
be early instructed in the nature and importance of 
such a cause, and to be engaged in such a service. 
All are needed to help forward the great Divine work ; 
and the personal advantages to be reaped from an 
enlightened, hearty devotement to it, are incalculably 
great. We do not conceive, therefore, that we are 
going out of our way, or doing that which does not 
mutually concern us, vrhen we meet, as we are at 
present met, for the avowed object of strengthening 
each other's hands and encouraging each other's 
hearts, in seeking the furtherance of this Divine work. 
The twin motto our Bible gives us as to personal 
obligation, if I have read it aright, is this — yet good 
— this is the first, get good to yourself: the second 
is, and no less binding, do good — do good to others 
as you have opportunity. ''Freely ye have received, 
freely give." 



March 29, 1853. 



138 



THE BEING OF GOD* 

ARGUMENT FROM DESIGN. 

It has been observed by a distinguished and popular 
writer, John Foster, that no one is competent to 
disprove the Divine existence, save he who has made 
a circuit of the entire universe ; inasmuch as, if it 
could be alleged that Deity were not in one place, he 
mighty for aught we know, be in another. This remark 
we hold to be as sound as it is original ; so that, posi- 
tively to negative the Divine existence is an impossi- 
bility on the part of a mere creature who has never 
passed the confines of this terrestrial state. The 
utmost show of reason that can be made is, that God 
is not discernible from our sphere of observation — that 
the evidences of His being, so far as these reach our 
eye, are incomplete — and that we must be content to 
remain still in doubt and perplexity on a question of 
deepest interest and importance. 

To the allegation that the light which has reached 
us, and which is furnished by the works of nature, is 
defective, we cannot subscribe ; inasmuch as we think 

* Prepared for Moral Philosophy Class, April, 1853. 



THE BEING OF GOD. 139 

that the conchision may be reached through varied 
unquestionable sources of evidence, pointing, as these 
several sources do, to our consciousness and reason — 
to the phenomena of nature everywhere around us, 
and to the moral economy established or set up within 
us. 

In the view of so much that is decisive on this 
question, the difficulty felt is in making a selection for 
comment and illustration. Were Ave asked which 
class of evidence — the metaphysical, the physical, or 
the moral — we held as the most convincing, we should 
say that the last, namely, the moral, is the most awing 
and suggestive; but that the second, or physical, is 
perhaps the most simple or easily appreciable, infer- 
ring a great first cause from the necessary and 
invariable connection subsisting betwixt cause and 
effect; and yet, farther, inferring an intelligent de- 
signer from the clearly distinguishable adaptation of 
means to ends which the physical everywhere presents; 
so that, under this head of evidence, there is found 
this double aspect, or rather twofold form of proof. 

We shall limit our observations more particularly at 
present to one of the branches of what may be called 
the physical argument, namely — inferring a designer 
from the traces of design, or from the adaptations of 
means to ends, which nature, in every department, 
so strikingly reveals. 

Some have attempted to forestall this argument by 



140 ESSAYS. 

questioning the position that things seen can certainly 
determine an unseen designer. To make this absolutely- 
sure, it is said we must have the designer face to face 
with his works, and really visible in his works, and 
not simply visible through them. The unreasonableness 
of such a demand as this scarcely needs to be exposed. 
The idea that we cannot know God except as a visible 
object^ is one of the greatest absurdities, and would tend 
to the subversion of all knowledge. Much of our 
knowledge, it is evident, is obtained, not from a regard 
to what objects are in themselves, but from their pro- 
perties and effects as manifested. We cannot tell 
even what matter is, but through its qualities as 
brought near to the bodily senses ; nor can we know 
persons or friends in any other way than this. Indi- 
vidual sensations— thought and feeling — are, through 
consciousness, exclusively our own experience, and 
cannot be communicated ; so that all we can know of 
mental and moral qualities, and varied types of human 
genius and skill, is by certain outward signs, which we 
are left to interpret as reason dictates. The mental 
and moral qualities are not seen. They are invisible, 
and we infer them from their works. Genius in its 
varied forms has no visibility in itself. It only becomes 
visible by sign or symbol, as in poetry, or sculpture, 
or any of the fine arts. These atheists themselves we 
have never seen but through their pages of blasphemy 
or absurdity; yet, through these pages as signs, we 



THE BEING OF GOD. 141 

can read the thing or the person signified ; so that, to 
question the entire validity of the standpoint, and say 
that discovered design does not necessarily infer a 
designer, because the cause is invisible^ is absurd in the 
extreme, and strikes at the very foundations iof our 
knowledge. A clear, patent work of design, revealing 
the adaptation of means to ends, we must hold as an 
argument of reliable certainty in proof of the existence 
of an intelligent adequate cause. 

The argument from design has been admirably put 
and illustrated by Paley in his '' Natural Theolog}^ ;" 
but it is one that is not easily exhausted, from the abun- 
dance and variety of the material that everywhere around 
lis invites attention. It is not simply in the structure 
and organisation of the human frame, so curiously 
wrought and nicely set to its diverse uses, that the 
idea of the All-wise Framer is pressed upon our re- 
jections ; but in every department of the physical also, 
and throughout the entire domain of nature; inasmuch 
as we may discover everywhere the most marvellous 
adaptation of means to an end. Dr. Chalmers, in his 
Bridgewater Treatise, has shown, with his accustomed 
force and eloquence, how far-reaching this argument 
is, which is daily receiving fresh illustration. 

If we turn to the vegetable kingdom, as it is now 
being arrayed in its " living green," and direct the eye 
even to a solitary flower, we may find that in things 
small, as well as in things great, we have teachers 



142 ESSAYS. 

here. That solitary flower, let it be minutely inspected. 
It has a seed, and the seed is in itself. The plant 
has a root, the tendrils of which have struck into the 
earth, so constituted and prepared as to yield it the 
necessary nourishment, which, in the form of sap, 
is taken up by the stem, and thus, under genial 
influences from above, the processes of budding and 
flowering go forward. The means here provided for 
preservation and growth are seen to be complete. 
But see the exquisite loveliness of that flower, with 
which nothing in art can be compared ! It is the very 
emblem and model of the beautiful. To all who have 
any claim to cultivated taste, it is an object of 
admiration. Its colours are most delicate. " Solomon, 
in aU his glory, was not arrayed like one of these." 
The scientific botanist, moreover, in opening it, and 
sending his keen eye into its interior, exclaims, it is 
wonderful ! In the disposition of every part its sym- 
metry is perfect! It is the ideal of consummate beauty! 
How well fitted to attract the eye, and to refine the 
taste, and to afford pleasure to the beholder! Now, 
what is the explanation of aU this? It is obvious 
such a phenomenon is not a chance or random 
growth. As soon believe that the whole universe was 
framed out of a " fortuitous concourse of atoms," as 
believe that the seed of that exquisite flower was self- 
generated, and happened to deposit itself in genial soil 
and under a genial sky. 



THE BEING OF GOD. 143 

The true philosophy unquestionably is, that this 
object of beauty is the representation of an idea; that 
it is a minute intelligent contrivance ; and that the 
contriver himself is supremely beautiful, inasmuch as 
no such idea could have found a place but in a mind 
where the conception and love of the beautiful were 
exquisite and perfect. The notion of Plato was, that 
the Divine Being at first created all types of things — 
which this philosopher called ideas — which types were 
afterwards selected and used, as circumstances called 
for, in the processes of formation. The supposition is, 
no doubt, fanciful ; yet there underlies it a divine 
philosophy ; for a flower is unquestionably the product 
and counterpart of a Divine idea, or mental type. 
Thus, surely, do we " rise from nature up to nature's 
God." The Divine existence is, of necessity, involved 
in the intelligence, beauty, and benevolence herein 
manifested ; and the same argument is still expanded 
when we consider that we are so constituted that we 
can take in, appreciate, and admire all this, thereby 
revealing the beautiful harmony subsisting betwixt the 
mental and the natural, the inner and the outer world. 
Thus does a solitary flower refute the absurdities of 
atheism ; and thus is the proof of the Divine existence 
bound up in its very beauty. 

If, again, we turn from the vegetable to the animal 
kingdom, in some of its minuter manifestations we 
shall find evidence not less striking and apparent. 



144 ESSAYS. 

The various wonderful instincts that are found here 
are insolvable on any other supposition than that of 
an unseen contriver. Take the spider, for example, 
so cunningly and curiously v>^eaving her web, having 
all the materials for doing so within herself. This 
nice network serves at once the purpose of providing 
shelter and procuring sustenance. See how eagerly 
she watches her prey, and how skilfully she secures 
it ! Here are means ingeniously adapted to an end. 
Whence all this ? Intelligence there is here, un- 
doubtedly — ^intelligence of no common order — intel- 
ligence more than appears — the unseen and Divine. 

Or take the feathered tribes in their varied and 
minute operations. With what delight do they hail the 
approach of spring! How joyously thej^ enter into 
the hymeneal contract, with all the preliminaries of 
mutual consent ! How faithful they are to each 
other ! and what a stirring scene of industry they 
now present, and something more than industry ! 
for see, in the construction of their nests, each 
species builds after its kind. There is no previous 
drawing of a plan, no application of rules of mathe- 
matical precision, and yet how admirable the form 
and perfect the adjustment of the several parts 
— so perfect at first as to render all after-improve- 
ment unnecessary! This done, see how well they 
understand each other, and with what fidelity, self- 
denial, and care, they rear the tender brood ! Here 



THE BEING OF GOD. 145 

is design, striking design, and here are means perfectly 
adapted to the end. Intelligence there must be, greater 
and higher far than is to be found in the creature. 
What can such marvellous phenomena denote, but the 
absolute certainty of invisible, presiding intelligence, 
operating directly, or indirectly, through the medium 
of these strange signs ? 

The operations of the bee reveal phenomena still 
more complete and wonderful. The construction of 
its cells, so perfect in form — the division of labour — 
the amazing industry — the order and government 
maintained — the nature of the presiding power — all 
reveal to us at once the truth and the boundless 
resources of a Divine intelligence. Yerily, God is 
here ; and the theory of Sir Isaac Newton is, perhaps, 
after all, the true one — that He not only acts here, but 
acts directly. 

Nor is the argument from design limited to the 
merely physical departments of nature. In going into 
the moral world, and turning to the phenomena of 
conscience, for example, you have not only the proof 
of the existence of a God bound up in it, but of 
Divine moral government. Who can rationally account 
for the movements of conscience — where, in the human 
bosom, we have lawgiver, judge, witness, and execu- 
tioner — without admitting at once a Divine intelligence, 
so marvellously endowing him, and a supreme Ruler, 
to whom he is responsible ? 



146 ESSAYS. 

But these illustrations, which could easily be multi- 
plied, we may not carry further. We have said 
enough to indicate how worthy of reliance is the 
argument for the Divine existence, drawn from the 
manifold traces of design through all the works of 
nature, and enough surely to evince the absurdity and 
infatuation of atheistic follies. 



147 



W A R .* 

The subject on which we propose to offer a few 
observations is, " War" — one at all times interesting 
and important, but especially so at present, when 
our country is taking her side in a great approaching 
struggle, and when the evils attendant on a state 
of warfare are already making themselves felt in 
the interruption of trade, increasing taxation, and 
the enlistment of large numbers of our countrymen. 

Our object, at present, will be simply to present 
some of the general aspects of the subject ; and 
we ask you to regard these on their own merits, 
and independently of any bias which the existing 
relations may have a tendency to produce. In dis- 
cussing this subject, such questions as the following 
present themselves for our consideration : — 

l5^. What are some of the Evils necessarily attendant 
on War? 

2nd, What are some of its usual Causes ? and, 
Srd. What are we to look to as the Cure ? 

* Prepared for Young Men's Society, March. 1854. 



148 ESSAYS. 

Following this train of thought, our first inquiry 
is in reference to the baneful consequences resulting 
from a state of warfare. At the outset, we remark, 
and we believe every rightly- constituted mind will 
agree with us, that, in all circumstances, war must 
be considered one of the greatest evils that can afflict 
humanity. For, what is war but the outburst, on 
a gigantic scale, of the worst passions of the human 
heart ? Are pride, revenge, hatred, &c., evils to be 
deplored and condemned? In war they find not 
only free vent, but are summoned into existence, and 
nourished into strength. Are robbery and murder 
execrable? In war they are set up as objects for 
ambition to aim at, whilst honour and promotion 
await the man who best succeeds in the attempt. 

What, after all, is military glory, and how is it 
obtained? It is the acclamation of praise which 
salutes the man who has won his way to victory 
through the interposing flesh and bone of his fellow- 
men, amid the war- shout which deadens the ear to 
the groans of mortal agony, that ever and anon ascend 
from this Aceldama. The crowning evil of war is, 
no doubt, its moral mischiefs ; but superadded to 
these, you have the fearful amount of physical suf- 
fering in which it results. Now, both of these are 
common to all wars, whether just or unjust, so that 
we are borne out in stating that war, in all cir- 
cumstances, is one of the greatest calamities. 



WAR. 149 

You may think first of the immediate effects to 
the army itself. You are aware that a state of 
active warfare involves, on the part of tlie soldiery, 
great exposure, fatiguing marches, unremitting vigi- 
lance, and constant toil. The energies are often taxed 
beyond the powers of human endurance, and disease 
and death creep in to thin and weaken the ranks. 
It is computed that in a campaign there are usually 
more carried off by the inroads of disease, superin- 
duced thus, than fall on the field of battle. 

But think especially of the scene of actual combat, 
after the roar of the cannon has ceased, and the 
surviving armies have left the field. Here, indeed, 
is a sight which fills the mind that can realise it 
with horror. The ground covered with the appalling 
heaps of the dying and the dead — men and their 
steeds lying side by side, sharing a common fate — 
the groans of the dying answered only hj the moan 
of the proud war-horse expiring by the side of his 
rider — the wounded mayhap helplessly entangled with 
the dead — no human helper near to rescue, or even 
alleviate with a drop of water the burning thirst 
that maddens the writhing frame I 

Look at the field of Waterloo on the 19th June, 1815. 
The day before two immense armies had ranged them- 
selves upon ojDposing slopes. At mid-day host en- 
countered host, and fought till dusk with a fury un- 
equalled perhaps in the annals of warfare. And then, 



150 ESSAYS. 

when another sun had risen, what a scene had 
presented itself for the moralist and the statesman to 
contemplate ! Within the comparati\ elj small space 
of two square miles, 50,000 men and horses lay 
dead or dying. Words fail to depict the scene. 
Imagination only can realise it, and that but in small 
degree. And think, as think we must, that those who 
fall thus suddenly in war have no time left, perhaps 
not an instant, for reflection. Half the evil of a 
soldier's doom upon the battle-field would be removed 
were it not that he is hurried away, as in a moment^ 
to his last account. 

But the sad consequences of war are not confined 
to the field of carnage, and to the victims there. 
There are other victims in the widowed and the 
fatherless refusing to be comforted. One of the 
most mournful sights upon a still smoking battle- 
field, is that of afiection seeking its object among 
the wounded and the slain ; and many a new-made 
widow and orphan- child have left that bloody scene, 
to linger on in secret sufieiing, cheerless and broken- 
hearted. Such are the immediate and baneful results, 
personally and relatively, to those who are more 
directly engaged in war. 

But our magazine of evils is far from being ex- 
hausted. Think of the efiect of war on trade. 
International commerce is suspended. That wise 
arrangement whereby one nation is made to par- 



WAR. 151 

ticipate in the advantages of another, by receiving 
from that other those commodities of which it 
stands in need, in exchange for those which it 
possesses to superfluity, is entirely set aside. Nor 
does the evil stop here ; for even the commerce of 
a nation 'within itself is crippled. With the en- 
couragement given to war, native industry diminishes, 
prices rise, taxes increase, national wealth is taken 
out of its proper channel, national energy is mis- 
directed, and destitution and discontent are allowed 
to spread, while the work of death goes on apace. 

Another evil attendant on a state of warfare, which 
we may mention here, is traceable to the mere pre- 
sence of large armies. We know that, even in times 
of peace, the influence of the soldiery is far from being 
desirable. The tendency of their calling, strange as 
it may seem, is to make them lawless; and, as a 
natural consequence, wherever they are allowed to 
associate with the citizens, the effects are baneful. In 
a state of actual war the evil of this intercourse is 
tenfold increased; and, if the army be an invading one, 
as in the PrincipaKties at the present time, the sub- 
jects are often reduced to a condition of hardship, and 
exposed to evils not to be described. Prohibited from 
relinquishing their own homes, they are subjected to 
the insults and exactions of a cruel soldiery, and 
compelled to yield up their time and substance to the 
direful work and ends of the invasion. 



152 ESSAYS. 

Nevertheless, there are circumstances in which war, 
while it must still be regarded as an evil, must, at the 
same time, be viewed as a necessary one. The sin of 
war is not the sin of those who defend the right, but 
of those who perpetrate the wrong. The aggressor is 
the transgressor. On his soul lies the sin, and on his 
head should alight the punishment. And, just as it 
would betray a spirit very different in its nature from 
Christian submission and humility, for an individual to 
endure, without resistance, the injury and rapacity of 
some vulgar bully, or to stand by inactively and see 
his brother wantonly trodden down ; so, on the part of 
a nation, there are times when the claims of right and 
freedom preponderate over the claims of submission 
and peace — when to fold the arms would be to act the 
coward, and when the peace, secured thus, would be 
the prelude to evils worse than war itself. Eeason 
and Scripture concur in the sentiment, " First pure, 
then peaceable" — purity and peace coming in the order 
of cause and effect. 

" The heart that throbs for human weal 
Should never beat for war, 
Nor let its splendour once conceal 
How grhn its features are. 

" But wealth and ease are basely bought, 
If freedom is the cost ; 
A life at ease — we spurn the thought, 
If liberty is lost." 



vr\n. 153 

We proceed now to our second inquiry in reference to 
some of the iirincijml Causes of war. 

We have said that, m war, that which is most to be 
deprecated is its moral turpitude. The causes, there- 
fore, of the evil are to be sought for in the depraved 
dispositions and tendencies of the human heart. One 
cause is the acquisition of military glory. Honour and 
reputation are the bait which lure on to bloodshed and 
plunder, and nations are captivated thus as well as 
individuals. The lust for conquest, and the jealousy 
of so-called honour, have been two of the greatest 
curses of humanity, and both of which may have their 
spring in the desire of rfiilitary glory. Look to the 
long series of aggressive struggles in which, to her dis- 
grace, our own country has engaged ; and look to the 
readiness with which, even in our own day — when the 
lessons of a dear-bought experience, one would have 
thought, might have taught men wisdom — the touching 
on some insignificant point of supposed national honour 
is hailed as the signal for retribution. 

True honour, we think, does not consist in readiness 
,0 retaliate an injury. In such honour we can see 
ittle of the dignity of rational intelligence; for it is 
possessed by many of the irrational tribes to some- 
thing like perfection. If the injury be of such a 
nature that it cannot be undone, a nation's true 
dignity would probably be to preserve silence, or 



154 ESSAYS. 

simply to address a wholesome warning. Certainly 
that would be a grave wrong which would justify 
a government in sacrificing the lives of hundreds or 
thousands of its own subjects, and it may be as 
many of another state — as innocent of the actual 
wrong as their own — for the mere purpose of inflicting 
punishment for the wrong done. A nation's honour 
is something distinct and different from mere terri- 
torial boundary. It presupposes the distribution of 
good government over its length and breadth, and 
the enjoyinent of free and enlightened institutions 
on the part of its subjects. When these are per- 
severingly interfered with, then may a nation be 
justified in turning the sword against the oppressors, 
in seeking to achieve a victory necessary for pre- 
serving the freedom of the country, and maintaining 
its interest and its honour in the face of the world. 
But too often the prevalence of what has been called 
the war spirit among the subjects of a government, has 
been found to be one of the primary and most power- 
fully operative causes of the evil. 

Many other fostering causes might be named, such 
as early training. A false estimate of military prowess 
is often early instilled into the young and imaginative 
mind. War is represented as the sphere for the 
manifestation of great qualities. The greatest of 
earth's sons were warriors. The dangers that beset 
the course only make the prize more to be coveted. 



WAR. 155 

Then, there is the excitement of military service, and 
the pageantry and show of armies, and the battle itself, 
with the thunders of its artillery, its fierce encounters, 
its martial music, and shouts of triumph. These all 
array themselves before the youthful fancy in fascinat- 
ing colours, and, associated with the applause of the 
world, go to form early a state of sentiment in regard 
to war which not the force of argument or the dictates 
of sober reason can entirely efface. 

Another not unfrequent cause of war is that false 
patriotism under which man makes an idol of his 
country, sinking the claims and rights of every other, 
in view of the interest of his own. Let the cause of 
quarrel be ever so insignificant, the subject buckles on 
his armour at the summons. It was lately asserted by 
Sir Harry Smith, in addressing some of the regiments 
about to embark for the East, that " soldiers have 
nothing to do with the cause of quarrel : their duty is 
to fight." 

With such a sentiment we can by no means coin- 
cide. This TV ere to make the soldier a mere machine, 
or engine of war, to be employed pretty much 
as the cannon he loads. The subject, by joining the 
ranks of the soldiery, does not cease to be a 7nan, and 
as such he has surely a right to judge of the cause in 
which he is required, not only to put forth his energies, 
but to risk his life. The world has been taught many 
an impressive lesson concerning the danger of ^ieldirig 



156 ESSAYS. 

up the destinies of the many to the absolute will of 
the few. And this false patriotism has not seldom 
been employed by crafty statesmen and despots for 
the attainment of their own ambitious ends. We 
would not here be misunderstood. In asserting the 
right of the citizen to judge of the justice of the cause, 
we, at the same time, freely acknowledge the right of 
the State in the declaration of war. Provided there 
be sufficient reason, it is the duty of a State to declare 
war ; for the same principle which authorises govern- 
ment to check and punish its own subjects, vests in it 
the right of resisting and punishing foreign aggression. 

Having already encroached upon the time and 
patience of the meeting, \ve proceed, in conclusion, to 
ask, in a sentence or two. What is to be regarded as the 
Cure or Remedy for the evil? 

We have spoken out our mind freely regarding the 
moral turpitude from which it takes its rise. All war 
has its origin in injustice, cruelty, oppression, and the 
worst passions of the heart. The cure, then, which 
would be effectual must be one which shall affect 
man's character as a moral being. Those bitter 
waters of Marah must be sweetened at the fountain- 
head. The springs of the affections must be purified. 
The affinities of brotherhood between man and man 
must be felt and acknowledored. The humanising 



WAR. 157 

influence of Divine truth and peace must be spread and 
prevail. Christianity alone presents sufficient motives, 
and carries sufficient power, for the achievement of 
this great object. AYealth, industry, and trade — these 
are all looked to as furnishing securities for peace; 
and so, to some extent, they do. Wealth, by putting 
the means of resistance within reach, may have the 
effect of shielding from insult ; but, on the other hand, 
may not the prospect of aggrandisement overcome the 
fear of punishment? Trade, no doubt, by intertwining 
the interests of one nation with another, may render 
peaceful intercourse conducive to the prosperity of 
each ; and yet, how often do we find opposing interests 
coming into collision, and jealousies and rivalries 
springing up, the tendency of which is the very reverse 
of pacific! How often, too, when outward circum- 
stances are all favouring peace, do we find the hand of 
the oppressor uphfted to strike the axe at the root of 
the tree of liberty ! 

True peace has its foundation in love ; and not 
till that love or charity which, in the beautiful lan- 
guage of holy writ, " suffereth long, and is kind, 
envieth not, vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up" — 
not till this love swells big in every heart, generating 
the true spirit of peace, have Ave any sufficient 
security against the crimes and the miseries of war. 
What heart sighs not for such a consummation ! It 
is the object after which the greatest and the best of 



158 ESSAYS. 

our fellow-men are labouring and striving. Theirs is 
a bloodless fight ; but victory shall crown their efibrts. 
Even now they hold up to view, at once, the olive and 
the palm. Let their cause be ours, and their honour, 
too ; and let us go forth with stout hearts and buoyant 
hopes ; for we have the testimony of Scripture to the 
truth, that the time is fast approaching when ^' wars 
shall cease to the ends of the earth." 



159 



PERSONAL ACCOUNTABILITY.* 

There is no aspect of our common humanity which it 
is so all-important to consider as that in which it is 
seen to be connected \\dth the invisible. Our ter- 
restrial relationships are many and various, and these 
it is our immediate concern rightly to apprehend, that 
we may adequately discharge the duties they impose. 
But, sacred and imperative as are the obligations 
herein involved, they must ever yield in importance 
to those that bind us to the unseen and divine. It is 
• Avith the latter class of obligations that our topic, 
" Personal Accountability," has more immediately 
to do. 

The first question of interest that here presents 
itself is, In what does this accGuntahility consist f What 
are those distinguishing elements that go to constitute 
man a responsible agent, and to place him far apart 
from all the irrational tribes around himV These 
constituents must obviously be born with him ; or 
rather, they exist as essential conditions of his being, 
so that humanity and responsibility are inseparably 

* Written for "Young Men's Magazine," January, 185-S. 



160 ESSAYS. 

allied. Hence, as the Scriptures have it, " every one 
shall give account of himself to God ;" thus making 
accountability co- extensive with the entire family of 
man. 

The inherent elements of accountability, then, are 
unquestionably these, Intelligence, Conscience, and 
Will. To constitute any act morale three things are 
necessary : a faculty to discern moral distinctions, a 
power or sense of duty or obligation, and a capability 
of choosing the right or the wrong. None of these 
elements, it is obvious, can be dispensed with. Take 
away intelligence, and conscience is blind, if it exist at 
all ; take away conscience, and the feeling of the ought 
— that is, of moral right or moral wrong — is entirely 
obliterated ; or take away will — that is, the power to 
choose through the influence of motive — and man is 
no longer a moral agent, but a mere mechanical 
instrument. But while each of these is an essential 
pre-requisite of accountability, there is one of them 
which, for a little, it is needful that we particularise, 
as bringing us into more immediate contact with the 
rectoral and divine. We mean conscience, which, 
more than any other attribute, demonstrates the value 
and high destiny of the human soul. It is to this 
peculiar distinction of the race that the apostle Paul 
refers when he says, that the heathen, •' having not a 
law, are a law unto themselves, which show the work 
of the law written in their hearts," or, in other words, 



PERSONAL ACCOUNTABILITY. 161 

on their consciences, giving them the certain know- 
ledge of right and wrong. Bishop Butler, with his 
usual precision, has brought out the peculiarity of this 
faculty, and thus made a valuable contribution to the 
science of ethics. 

What, it may be asked, is conscience, and what is 
that grand element in it that immediately reveals the 
unseen, giving to man a felt contact with a personality 
superior to himself? The definition which would 
make conscience the faculty that gives us the know- 
ledge of rightness and wrongness in action, is so far 
correct; but it is obvious that something more is 
required to render it complete, inasmuch as a feeling 
is at the same time awakened in every operation of 
conscience. If the action be right, that feeling is 
approval; if the action be wrong, the feeling is dis- 
approval; and, it may be added, that the former is 
pleasurable, while the latter is painful. 

Now, we beg to mark this sense as a very wondrous 
element of our being ; for it is at this point that the 
light of the Eternal begins to dawn, and the curtain of 
the Invisible begins to be drawn aside. It is here 
that not only we obtain the distinct idea of a God, but 
feel that with this great Being we have ir.dividually to 
do. From the very depths of the human soul this 
feeling has a voice, which nothing but the greatest 
perversity can hush or disregard. Conscience may be 
called the universal interpreter, revealing at the same 

M 



162 ESSAYS. 

moment tlie existence, the moral administration, and 
the judgeship of heaven's King. All ingenuous minds 
have been constrained to confess its existence and 
power. It is, in fact, the transit point into the region 
of worship ; the great spanning archway that Nature 
herself reveals, connecting the moral and the religious, 
the seen and the invisible, the finite and the infinite, 
the human and the Divine. Hence the varied language 
employed regarding it : " Vicegerent of Heaven ;" 
" The Witness of Grod in the soul ;" its '' Supremacy" 
over all the other faculties ; and hence the language of 
the apostle : '' Commending ourselves to every man's 
conscience in the sight of God, by the manifestation of 
the truth ;" which expressions, it will be seen, invest 
it with the high attributes at once of a Witness, or 
Interpreter, a Ruler, and a Judge, and we may add, an 
Executioner also. Take one, for example, who has 
deviated from the path of rectitude, and who is not 
deaf to this monitor. See how he is moved by its loud 
and faithful remonstrance ! Does he not resemble a 
criminal summoned before the bar of an awful tri- 
bunal; and this, too, when no human vengeance is 
pursuing? Why does he start? Whence the arrow 
of self-reproach with which he is pierced? Whence 
that apprehension that his accounts are not yet settled? 
Whence that dread anticipation and fearful foreboding 
of a coming and more solemn reckoning ? Wherefore 
is the full sentence not exhausted by a present and 



PERSONAL ACCOUNTABILITY. 163 

momentary pang ? All ! the reason is obvious : He 
that made him has engraven his own law on his 
spirit, and erected his tribunal within. That law he 
would disown if he could ; and from that tribunal he 
would escape were it possible. But he cannot. There 
he stands, a convicted, trembling criminal, before a 
presence and authority which he cannot gainsay or 
disallow. 

Now, what does all this prove? It proves the 
existence of moral law, to the dictates of which man, 
from his very nature, is bound to conform — a law holy 
and just, and armed with awful sanction in case of 
disobedience. And what does all this farther prove ? 
It proves the existence of an invisible lawgiver, and a 
rectoral governor, whose subjects we are, and under 
whose moral administration we are even now placed. 
And it yet further demonstrates that we are under 
personal and sacred obligations to yield a true alle- 
giance to that great authority, and that the power and 
the determination to punish the offender are by no 
means wanting; — all this teaching us, by the book of 
nature itself, that the present is a state where we are 
hastening on to some great assize, when He who is 
now the witness of our conduct shall sit as judge, 
when present actions shall be weighed in an even 
balance, and when doom or acquittal must be our 
portion. Thus it is that conscience clearly connects 
us with the invisible ; and thus it is that we have a 



1 64 ESSAYS. 

palpable opening for Avhat we have called " Personal 
Accountability." 

So mucb, then, for the inherent elements and nature 
of this accountabilitj ; and so much for that element 
especially in which it more immediately has its seat, 
namely, natural and universal conscience. 

Having indicated that responsibility is moral, judi- 
cial, and universal in its nature, a question of some 
importance now offers itself for solution. How far 
does our accountability extend, and how are we to 
ascertain its limits ? The great Being with whom we 
have to do demands not from us the impossible, but 
only the reasonable and just, while at the same time 
he will not remit one jot or tittle of his rightful claims 
to obedience. The question here presents a double 
aspect. We have first of all to consider accountability 
in reference to its subjects. This point we do not 
consider at all difficult. It clearly extends to the 
whole of human conduct into v/hich any moral ingre- 
dient enters. To a human tribunal we are answerable 
only for overt acts, as injurious to our fellow-men. 
Into the region of thought, feeling, or conscience it 
may not, and dare not, enter. Such cognizance 
belongs only to the Invisible, whose province compre- 
hends the whole region of thought, and feeling, and 
motive within, as well as the actions of the life. 
Being omniscient, as well as supreme, we clearly see 
how minute record ca7i be taken ; and being holy and 



PERSONAL ACCOUNTABILITY. IGT) 

just, we further see that this record must be taken. 
A prime or necessary element in all morality is intent 
or volition. It is this that stamps the unexpressed 
thought or feeling as lawful or otherwise ; so that the 
eye of the Omniscient especially keeps guard over the 
will and its issues, or, as the Scriptures express it, 
"' the intents of the heart." All this is clear and 
obvious. 

In this connection a question has been started : 
Does accountability go beyond this, and embrace 
opinions also on matters that affect man's moral and 
eternal well-being ? In other words, are all men to be 
held responsible for their religious creed or belief? 
^Yithout here staying to confute the absurd and 
obnoxious sentiment, that '' a man is no more respon- 
sible for his belief than for the colour of his skin,'' Ave 
shall indicate, in a sentence or two, what appears to 
be the truth on this head. We hold, then, that man 
is responsible for his opinions on morals and religion, 
as well as for his actions. It ought to be remembered 
here that man is not a creature of mere unbiassed 
intellect, in contact with evidence that he cannot 
resist. He is also a being of passion and will, selfish 
and perverted, that ever and anon tend to darken and 
misdirect the intellect and the judgment. Vanity, 
pride, self-interest, natural aversion to the right and 
the holy, ceaselessly intrude to incite to conclusions 
that are erroneous and fatal. Now, for these evil and 



166 ESSAYS. 

perverting influences, entertained, and fostered, and 
suffered to exercise control over the power of volition, 
man is without question responsible, existing, as they 
do, by his own fault, and operating by his own 
consent. Thus it is that the most gifted intellect may 
be warped, and become the miserable victim of mis- 
conception and prejudice. 

Nor, in such circumstances, is he accountable only 
for the error embraced ; he is also accountable for the 
whole mental malady of faculties injured and enslaved, 
bearing the very lineaments of the " Father of lies." 
Miserable man ! so to desecrate and efface the image 
of his Maker, and so to act the part of a self- destroyer! 
It belongs to the very nature of error to have a down- 
ward course; and not the least of its evils is to change 
the mind where it is harboured into the dark distorted 
likeness of the fiend. Once committed to this dan- 
gerous steep, no one can tell how low the human spirit 
may fall from truth and rectitude. Nor does respon- 
sibility become extinct through all the winding and 
ruinous progress. On the contrary, it will follow him 
during the whole immortality of his being. Now, it 
will be seen that he is not only responsible for acts, 
and feelings, and opinions, but also for a thoroughly- 
ruined and perverted nature. The Infidel or Free- 
thinker cannot, therefore, get quit with the pretext, 
that his creed, if wrong, is his misfortune, not his 
crime. We confess we have little faith in the pre- 



FEESONAL ACCOUNTABILITY. 167 

tended candour of this class ; and cannot allow that 
any such are unbiassed and ingenuous searchers after 
truth. Some canker-worm, we fear, in every case 
will be found at the root, tending to eat out all 
healthful vitality. The verdict of Scripture is here too 
true : " Not wishing to retain God in their thoughts ;" 
'' The fool hath said in his hearty There is no God." 
The want in this case is not defective evidence or 
deficiency of light, but the willing mind and the 
candid judgment to weigh and rest in the truth; and 
how many are there who have never examined evi- 
dence at all, and whose scepticism amounts merely to 
an unexamining rejection? If, therefore, it be so, 
that all must give account of their opinions, as well as 
of their acts, how much in earnest ought we to be 
that these be in accordance with the great standard of 
revealed an d ii^allible truth ! 

Having noted accountability in reference to its 
subjects, it remains that, in a concluding sentence or 
two, we view it as to its extent or degree. Does it 
admit of degree, or dees it extend to all men alike? 
We think there can be no dubiety that admits of 
limitation and difference. The idea of equality here 
cannot for one moment be entertained. It is obvious 
that responsibility is to be measured by obligation, and 
obligation by privilege. By privilege we mean the 
power and opportunities we have of gaining a know- 
ledge of ourselves, and of our relations to the Eternal. 



168 ESSAYS. 

Now, it is evident that all men are not placed on a 
level in this respect. On the contrary, we see the 
greatest disparities and differences everywhere preva- 
lent. The circumstances and relative positions of the 
entire race are endlessly diversified, running out into 
the minutest shades of variation, from the rude untu- 
tored child of the wilderness, under the dim light of 
nature's dawn, to the highly-favoured son of Christian 
civilisation, enjoying the clear light and all the hallow- 
ing influences of Divine revelation. And even in 
Christian countries, how marked and varied the 
educational differences in institutions and families, 
where the youthful mind is to a large extent formed 
for good or evil : here, an atmosphere of death, and 
there, an atmosphere of life ! Thus the opportunities 
of obtaining definite knowledge of ourselves, moral 
law, and our invisible relations, minutely vary beyond 
all calculation. 

It is evident, then, that there are degrees of 
accountability — accountability of very varying shades. 
Of their proportionate judicial results we cannot speak. 
It is a subject too high for us; and this only can we 
say, " Will not the Judge of all the earth do right?" 
This much, however, is evident, as we have seen, that 
the religious capacity existing in all, is first awakened 
by the voice of natural conscience, giving the felt 
connection with moral law and moral administration, 
and by consequence, with a moral lawgiver and judge. 



PERSONAL ACCOUNTABILITY. 1 G9 

These ideas, and tliis sense thus obtained, it becomes 
a sacred and all-important duty duly to entertain and 
cherish, seeing they reveal a relationship the most 
august and awful. Let this discovery be held in 
light esteem or disregarded — this is our crime ; let 
it be welcomed and cherished — this is alike duty and 
interest. 

But how, it may be asked, is it to be welcomed and 
cherished? Clearly by a practical and reverential 
regard to the nature of the law and its Author as 
herein revealed. But a peculiarity here presents itself. 
Not only have we conscience, together with the book 
of nature, as expositors of law and duty, but have also 
received '' a more sure word of prophecy" — a wintten 
revelation, shedding its clear light on human character 
and destiny. At this point a new and awful respon- 
sibility is imposed, which is, first of all, candidly to 
examine the credentials or evidence of its beino^ indeed 
Divine ; and, being assured of this, carefully to examine 
and ascertain the contents of the heavenly document — 
opening up, as it does, man's origin, history, present 
condition, and relationships, as well as showing the 
way of life. Being in this way assured on these 
momentous points, it only remains that, with child- 
like submission, man own and revere this standard 
and rule of duty, whether it call upon him to believe 
or to do; for to believe^ as well as to do, it does impera- 
tively call him. So much is this the case, that belief 



170 ESSAYS. 

forms the turning-point of all true worship and 
obedience, as well as the transition-point of doom, 
and hence of all others is the most solemn and impor- 
tant part of man's accountability; for here it is 
essential to have a felt personal interest in, and per- 
sonal acquiescence with, a great and definite truth. 
This again introduces us to endless and varied 
responsibilities, furnishing, as it does, new light and 
motive to a life of devoted activity. The sacredness 
of Christian responsibility none can estimate. But we 
may not pursue this subject farther. Our object will 
have been gained if we have in some degree indicated, 
to the eye of reason, the origin and ascending steps of 
" Personal Accountability." 



171 



TKUE MORALITY.* 

Man is not onlj an intelligent and immortal but a 
moral being, possessing moral powers which render 
him the subject of a moral government. Hence the 
question of morality pertains essentially to his being 
and well-being, and enters into all his relations, 
obligations, and interests. Morality is right principle 
in action. It is doing what is right and good in 
opposition to what is wrong and evil, and doing what 
in itself is right and good, in a right spirit, and with 
right ends in view, in opposition to doing what is 
wrong, or acting in a wrong spirit, and with wrong 
ends in view. 

Morality presupposes, then, a distinction between 
right and ^vrong, between good and evil — a right to 
be followed, and a wrong to be avoided — a good to be 
sought, and an evil to be shunned. 

It presupposes, farther, the existence of God. If He 
be denied, all supreme obligation is removed. 

It supposes, also, man's condition as a subject of 

* Written for Montrose Street Young lien's Society, and obviously pre- 
pared witii great care. August, I80I. 



172 ESSAYS. 

Divine government. If God be admitted to be the 
Supreme Moral Governor of the universe, this will 
unavoidably follow. 

Farther, there must also be a standard of morality 
— a rule whereby the subject may direct his conduct, 
and a test by which it may be tried. Such a standard 
we shall expect to be perfect — worthy of him from 
whom it emanates. And as man, in the essential 
elements of his nature, and in his highest relations, 
is the same everywhere, and in all ages, we shall 
expect this standard to be not local or limited, but 
universal ; not variable, but fixed ; not changing, but 
immutable. 

It may be proper to observe a distinction, the 
recollection of which is necessary to an enlightened 
understanding of the principles of morality — the dis- 
tinction between its standard or rule, and the founda- 
tion of moral obligation. This has been illustrated 
by the analogy in human governments. The consi- 
derations in the minds of the legislators inducing the 
enactment of the law — its estimated tendencies, and 
desired effects, may be said to be its principle or 
foundation. The law itself — that with which the 
subject has chiefly to do, to the precepts of which he 
yields his obedience — is the standard. In the definition 
given, the Latin scholar will recognise precisely the 
difference between jus and lex; the former meaning 
the principle of right, and the latter the recorded law. 



TRUE ALORALITY. 173 

Recognising tins distinction, we might reasonably 
expect, in the question of moral government, a cor- 
responding distinction between the rule of moral 
oblio:ation and its ori«;in — between the rule itself and 
the reasons or principles leading to the formation of 
it. And so we find it. The rule is one thing, the 
foundation of the rule another. The character of the 
law arises out of the character of its author. The 
perfect rectitude of his nature impressed itself upon 
the rule he gave. But as a subject, man has properly 
to do with the rule itself. The question with him, 
before obedience, is not, ''AVhy is it so?" but, "What 
is it?" and, having ascertained this, implicit obedience 
is the demand. With him to hear should be to obey. 

I. Let us now look at some of the false theories of 
morality that have been maintained. 

We pass over, with the bare mention of them, the 
three principal ancient moral systems, because, being 
compiled unaided by the light of revelation, they 
cannot contain what is suited to man, as a fallen 
and immortal being; and, also, because the great 
principles which they contain have been in sub- 
stance adopted by some modern philosophers. 

The Aristotelian system of morals defined virtue 
as the mean between two extremes, thus overturning 
the essential opposition of virtue to vice, leaving us 



174 ESSAYS. 

nothing wliereby to answer the question — Why, sup- 
posing the extremes defined, they are wrong and the 
medium only right? and in some cases having no 
mean at all. 

The Stoical system defined virtue as living accord- 
ing to nature. If this mean the nature of man, 
every one must see it is nothing short of a license 
to vice. If it mean the nature of things, the appli- 
cation of the definition being far beyond the powers 
of a finite mind, it would be preposterous to propose 
placing it in the hands of one not only finite but 
fallen. 

The doctrine of Epicurus was, that a steady course 
of virtue is productive of the greatest amount of 
happiness, while the happiness derived was regarded 
as constituting the virtue. This system soon came 
to be much abused, and unrestrained libertinism was 
dignified with the name of Epicurean philosophy. 

Passing on to a more modern date, we find 
Cudworth's system of "Eternal Fitnesses" ably 
advocated by more than one moralist. An eternal 
distinction is regarded as subsisting between right 
and wrong, which the mind instinctively lays hold 
of — an essential adaptation of things existing in the 
moral as in the natural world — and conformity or 
disconformity to this constitutes virtue or vice. What- 
ever may be said regarding such a definition, it is 
one which goes far beyond the capabilities of any 



TRUE MORALITY. 175 

finite being. For no mind but that of Hira who 
adjusted them can comprehend, in his dealings, all 
the relations of things ; and if so, none but His 
can rightly estimate eternal fitnesses. 

The theory of Adam Smith has been designated, 
'' The enthusiasm of moral science." According 
to it, sympathy determines to us the moral rectitude 
of an action performed by another, and the agent's 
merit ; and the character of our own actions, and our 
own merit, by imagining the existence of an impartial 
spectator, and sympathising in his supposed sympathy 
with us. Without at ail entering on the merits of 
the definition, we remark that the philosopher could 
not intend sympathy to be understood as con- 
stituting moral rectitude ; but if he meant it merely 
as a test or standard, whilst the sympathies of our 
nature are exposed to the operation of so many 
outward influences, how loose and fluctuating must 
it be! 

Dr. Thomas Brown has it, that the approving 
regard with which we look on ourselves, and others 
look on us, " constitutes the virtue of the act, the 
merit of the agent, and the obligation to perform the 
act." One well qualified to do so has, we think, 
justly charged the system with resolving virtue into a 
mere relation. What is virtue to us, might to a class 
of intelligent beings, formed with different moral per- 
ceptions, be vice ; or what is vice to us, to them virtue. 



176 ESSAYS. 

But it may be urged, in reply,* this is impossible. 
Certainly, we answer ; and does not the very impos- 
sibility afford evidence against your theory? For 
whence comes this impossibility, but from the existence 
in the Divine mind of certain great principles of recti- 
tude, which are immutable, and with which alone it is 
consistent for God to endow His intelligent offspring. 

In Dr. Hutcheson's theory man is regarded as 
possessing a moral sense, which, like the corporeal 
senses, naturally and intuitively derives pleasure from 
contact with objects of certain qualities. This moral 
sense is held to be the standard of virtue, its decisions 
being regarded as determining the moral qualities of 
an act. In this, as in the previous system, morality 
is resolved into a mere relation. Were there a 
change in the decisions of the moral sense, there 
would be a change in the nature of morality. If, 
however, " we understand the moral sense figuratively, 
and suppose it to mean that intuitive discernment of 
moral distinctions, which we conceive to be the 
appropriate possession of a sinless creature, and, 
along with the perfect conformity of a disposition to 
the perception of rights to constitute- the harmony of 
that creature's nature with the nature of Deity, '^ 
there would be less to object to. But man is not a 
sinless being ; and it is this fact which constitutes the 
fatal objection, not only to this, but to all the systems 
already noticed. Plow can we suppose a being 



TRUE MORALITY. 177 

capable of deciding upon the eternal fitnesses of things 
in whom the highest of all relationships has been 
disturbed — the relation of man to God ? How can 
we imagine the sympathies of a nature the test of 
right, when, from the nature being debased, the sym- 
pathies have been corrupted ? How can we set up 
our approving emotions as the criterion of virtue, 
since, the film of depravity having overspread our 
moral perceptions, we are apt to conjure up vice, clad 
in robes of light, and dropping sweet odours in her 
path? Or, how can we make the moral sense our 
standard, if that sense has lost its discriminating 
capacity ? And, as certainly as the man whose eyes 
are jaundiced is incapacitated for pronouncing on 
colours, so certainly is our moral sense perverted, and 
its powers incompetent for the high task of discri- 
minating between right and wrong 

We might now speak of Utility. As introduced 
and maintained by Hume, it is unworthy of serious 
consideration. Since, recognising no state of existence 
beyond time, it confined its provisions to the present 
life. But the Utilitarian philosophy has been advocated 
on higher grounds than Hume's, taking in man's 
immortal existence, and applying its principles, not 
to the individual only, but to the whole universe. 
Utility to the universe, it is said, is virtue. But what 
a standard is this for man to act by. It takes for 
granted that such a creature as he, is capable of decid- 

N 



178 ESSAYS. 

ing not only what is best for himself, but what, upon 
the whole, is most useful throughout the vast empire 
of God ; and besides this, that virtue or morality 
has no fixed principle, no sure foundation on which 
to rest. If utility be taken in its most extended 
meaning, and embrace, with the good of the universe, 
the glory of the Godhead, it will follow, no doubt, 
that whatever is useful is good ; but it does not 
follow that its usefulness constitutes its goodness. 
The converse is true. It is the operation of the 
eternal and immutable principles of rectitude, existing 
in the Divine nature, which conduces to these great 
results. 

Bishop Butler's scheme of morals has been de- 
signated ^' the system of Zeno baptised into Christ.'' 
Like the Stoics, he defines virtue as living according 
to nature — ^meaning, according to the complex consti- 
tution of man ; not following that blind impulse w^hich 
happens to be uppermost, but giving each principle 
its appropriate place, and listening to the dictates of 
the grand ruling principle, namely — conscience. In 
short, this system resolves virtue into living according 
to conscience. But, in this definition, is not the fact of 
man's depravity forgotten? In making conscience 
supreme, we trust to a monitor that is apt to be 
mistaken ; to a guide, who, in seeking the path of 
safety, may lead us into all the errors of the course we 
sought to avoid. 



TRUE MOKALTTY. 179 

II. Let us now consider the rule of true morality. 

We have thus mentioned several systems — some even 
claiming the name of Christian — and we have seen that 
they are all radically at fault, both in the foundation 
they assign, and the standard they propose. We turn 
avs^ay from these to search after something higher and 
more stable. Where, then, are we to find the founda- 
tion of true morality ? Where, but in that Divine 
nature from Avhich everything great and good in the 
universe has sprung ? Looking abroad upon creation, 
and marking the evidences of wisdom and design, we 
reason up from such effects to some great cause. We 
argue from these existences an infinite Originator of 
being, and here we stop. A\'e have reached the final 
cause — the uncreated God. So in morals. In tracing 
up the high and immutable principles of rectitude to 
their origin, we cannot reach a farther point than this — 
the essential and necessary perfection of His nature. 
He was from all eternity the great " I Am," self- 
existent, and self-blessed in the possession of that holy 
character, the impress of which He put upon all His 
intelligent offspring. The more distinct this impress 
of the character of his Creator, the clearer will be man's 
exhibition of the principles of excellence which that 
character contains. Hence, " when we have resolved 
the ultimate principles of moral rectitude in the crea- 
ture, into conformity vnth the eternal and immutable 



180 ESSAYS. 

prototype of all excellence in the nature of the God- 
head, our minds repose in delightful satisfaction on 
this secure resting-place." It was eternal immu- 
tability of excellence which, if we may so speak, 
caused the will of God, in its expression to his 
intelligent creatures, to be what it is. Another 
course would have been inconsistent with his char- 
acter ; but that will and character are in eternal 
harmony, so that conformity to the one is comformity 
to the other. And if true morality be said to consist 
in obeying the one, with equal truth it may be defined 
as conformity to the other. Here, then, in God's 
character, is the true origin of every principle of 
moral rectitude ; and here, too, we have the true 
answer to every question regarding the fitnesses of 
things. They cannot themselves be the origin of 
moral principle — the standard by which the Divine 
will measured its outgoings. It existed from all 
eternity; while fitnesses could only be said to exist 
when other intelligences besides Deity were called 
into being. 

This view of the foundation of morality is as 
honouring to God as it is rational. It acknowledges 
him as the sole origin of excellence in the universe ; 
and thus affords matter of praise to all created 
intelligences. It gives no man a feeling of ease and 
security, to recognise in his Creator the one source of 
all that is pure in morals and holy in principle. 



TRUE MORALITY. 181 

The great question Avliieh it presses on him is — 
What is the will of God to nie, that I may obey it ? 
Where may I discover the principles of morality I 
am required to adopt? No one who admits God's 
supremacy as Moral Governor of the universe, and 
man's position as a subject of Divine administration, 
will question, that the will of the Ruler must be his 
law, and that the great question with him ought to be — 
What is that will? He then asks — How may I discover 
the will of God to me, and the pure principles of the 
heavenly morality ? To this the answer is — That God 
has made known that will, and disclosed these 
principles by a direct revelation — the characteristics 
of the nature of which, as a rule of duty to man, we 
shall now proceed briefly to consider. 

As to its characteristics. It is the perfect transcript 
of the infinitely perfect mind — '^ an emanation from 
the holiness of God." " The law of the Lord is 
perfect." It relates not only to the outward man, but 
to the inward ; and legislates for the heart as well as 
for the life. Implicit, perfect obedience, is the re- 
quirement of a perfect law. Such obedience sin has 
utterly unfitted man to render ; and, indeed, but for 
enlightening and disposing influence he would render 
no true obedience at all. It would have been but a 
source of terror to him, that so perfect a law had been 
given him, were he conscious of having already broken 
it, and of still having no disposition to obey it; but 



182 ESSAYS. 

falling back on the Gospel methodj we find provision 
made for the removal of this indisposition, and for 
bringing man's moral nature into harmony with the 
Divine requirements. 

Farther, it is a fixed and invariable law. It never 
modifies its unbending requirements in conformity to 
outward circumstances. The laws of man, the maxims 
of the world, the advancement of science, the progress 
of time, do not affect it. It was the rule of duty to 
man in his primeval state — it was the same that was 
given forth amid the thunders of Sinai —it is the 
same which is exhibited in the economy of grace — 
it will remain the same through all coming ages — it 
will pass into eternity, its essential elements the same. 
The morality of Pagan worlds was e^er changing, 
ever undefined, because it had no unchanging standard, 
no fixed foundation on which to rest. But the 
morality that is from above is like its Author, ''without 
variableness or shadow of turning." Christ, when 
upon the earth, declared its immutability in the affir- 
mation, " My word shall not pass away." Eighteen 
centuries have come and gone since then — empires 
have risen and fallen — governments overthrown and 
remodelled, but the principles of Divine morality are 
still the same. It is also a law of universal application 
to man. It is suited to every one individually. 
Whatever be the extent of his acquirements or con- 
tractedness of his intellect, whether he may have been 



TRUE MORALITY. 183 

trained to the most rigid and philosophic thinking, or 
left to the direction of his own untutored powers — 
whether he be possessed of the most elevated character 
and disposition, or utterly debased by immorality and 
crime —he is not beyond its pale : on him its obliga- 
tions are binding. It is universal in application to 
mankind collectively. It is for the various classes of 
men, old and young, learned and illiterate, bond and 
free. It meets man in all the relations he sustains 
to his fellows, as a subject, as a citizen, in the social, 
and in the family circle. All men in every region 
are subject to its authority, for it is founded on rela- 
tions which subsist Avherever there are human beings. 
It is not circumscribed by geographical boundaries or 
territorial distinctions. The vast rolling sea or inter- 
vening mountain cannot annul it ; for, like the stream- 
ing Kght darted from the sun in the heavens, its rays 
descend from on high, and penetrate to earth's remotest 
bounds. 

This law, farther, is of perpetual obligation. For 
the same reason, on account of which it is binding on 
us, it will be binding on all succeeding generations. 
As it existed in the heart of man in Eden, as it was 
promulgated from Sinai, and as it is exhibited in the 
economy of grace, so it will be in the future. As a 
law, too, it is enforced by eternal sanctions, which 
invest it with a dignity and an awe, illustrative of its 
authority and the high character of its claims. 



184 ESSAYS. 

Such, then, are some of the characteristics of that 
law which is the standard of morality to man. Its 
nature occupies another field which we may now 
hastily traverse. 

True morality is just what the will of God makes 
it. What it has made it, may be seen briefly in the 
answer of Christ to the law}^er, who, tempting him, 
said, " Master, which is the great commandment in 
the law ? Jesus said unto him. Thou shalt love the 
Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy 
soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and 
great commandment. And the second is like unto it, 
Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. On these 
two commandments hang all the law and the pro- 
phets." Here we have a statement of the great 
principle on which the moral law is based — the prin- 
ciple of love. The various precepts are but the 
development of this. Yet the law itself, as expressed 
on the tables given to Moses, is only a summary of 
duty. General heads are given, from which, by 
following the rules of interpretation afforded us in 
Scripture, we are to deduce the particulars ourselves. 
It will give us an idea of the nature of this law, if 
we take a brief survey of that part of it with which, 
in the question of morality, we have more properly to 
do. The second table of the law prescribes our duty 
to man. It requires the faithful discharge of all rela- 
tive duty. It gives us to know that we are neither 



TRUE MORALITY. 185 

our own proprietors, nor have any right of property 
in our fellow-men, and demands a sacred regard alike 
to our own life and theirs. It forbids all impurity in 
heart or conduct, and requires us to keep the higher 
powers of our nature in that state of complete ascen- 
dancy which is their proper place. It prohibits every 
infringement on the property or rights of others, 
and enjoins undeviating uprightness. It requires 
" truth in the inward parts," forbidding falsehood and 
calumny, and every departure from veracity in form 
or spirit. It forbids the covetous desire, as well as 
the unrighteous act, and requires the spirit of man 
to be in harmony with the outward condition in which 
God has placed him. 

The moral law is worthy of its Author, and bears 
upon it the impress of His holy character. When Vv^e 
look at its purity, its spirituality, and its extent, we 
are constrained to acknowledge alike the incapacity 
of man, as a finite being, to have formed it, and his 
inability, as a fallen being, to obey its requirements. 
Such knowledge of the human heart as it discloses 
was far too deep for man, and such disinterestedness 
of motive as it enjoins far too pure for him. It is 
entirely adapted to the nature of man, and holds all 
his faculties in subjection to his Maker's aim — 
the promotion of holiness and love. And while its 
sanctions embrace the severest penalties, it allures to 
obedience alike by its nature and the happiness which 



186 ESSAYS. 

conformity to it yields. How important is true 
morality ! How important to individual man, if you 
think of the end of his existence ! Without it he is 
not as the steady planet moving round and receiving 
its light from the centre sun; but, like some wander- 
ing star, darting hither and thither, carrying danger 
in its course, and sinking into the blackness of dark- 
ness. The man without moral principle perverts the 
design of his existence, to the dishonour of his Maker 
and the injury of his fellows, and sinks himself deeper 
in degradation and wretchedness. 

Is it worth ? Without it man is destitute of every 
true and pure principle of excellence. Bad principles 
make a bad man ; and it is only they who adopt the 
high principles of the Divine morality that can be 
classed with the excellent of the earth. 

True morality gives dignity to man. How degraded 
and low is he without it ! Grovelling amid the things 
of earth and time, he differs indeed from the beasts 
that perish ; but differs from them as much by what 
is dreadful as by what is desirable — as much by his 
turpitude as by his intelligence. But, in the exercise 
of moral principles, he rises to his true sphere of pre- 
eminence, displaying a nature which none but immortal 
beings possess. 

In the exercise of morality, too, man enjoys the 
purest happiness of which his nature is capable. How 
wretched are the effects of the operation of immoral 



TRUE MORALITY. 187 

principle on the mind ! Wretchedness is the child of 
vice. We might point to a Buonaparte, whose mad 
ambition gave him rest neither day nor night, Imt, 
like a fevered demon, possessed his soul, and nrged 
him on to projects, the accomplishment of which 
involved the lives of millions of his fellow-men, and 
himself in deep^ misery. Or to a Byron, who, in 
malignity and depravity, occupies such a fearful place 
of prominence on the page of modern history, on 
whom a demon's principles entailed the restlessness 
and wretchedness of a demon's doom. 

Think, too, how necessary morality is to the hap- 
piness of the domestic circle. See the home of tlie 
moral and the good ! There, natural affection is 
strengthened and hallowed by higher principles, yield- 
ing the sweetest enjoyment. " In dwellings of the 
righteous is heard the melody of joy and health." 
But look at those dwellings from Avhich the Divine 
morality is excluded. Look at the abodes of the 
debauched and the drunkard, of the unrighteous and 
the selfish. There, in the miseries they experience, 
and the evils they entail, '' they eat the fruit of their 
own ways, and are filled with their own devices." 

Again, how deep are the obligations of nations to 
true morality — morality having a pure and perfect 
standard ! In the history of empires, no substitute 
for it has ever been found, to save from degradation 
and ruin. In the best days of Greece and Rome, 



188 ESSAYS. 

the very emperors, statesmen, and philosophers, as 
well as the people, were immoral. Their philosophic 
systems, and even their religious rites, required them 
to be so. Festivals and civil enactments gave 
impulse and permanence to vice. Even Cicero 
approved it. What the philosophy of one censured, 
another extolled. For, having n<P sure foundation 
on which to raise their fabrics of morality, the 
structures were as varied as their framers. With- 
out the Divine morality there is nothing pure, nothing 
stable, nothing safe. To this, not to speak of the 
degradation and wretchedness of heathendom, the 
history of France, of Rome, and many other nations 
of the earth, in our own times, bears ample testi- 
mony. 

It is no unusual thing for sceptics themselves to do 
honour to the morality of the Bible. " We always 
recur," says an eloquent English writer, " with great 
delight to the testimony of a deist, who, after publicly 
labouring to disprove Christianity, and to bring Scrip- 
ture into contempt, as a forgery, was found instructing 
his own child from the pages of the New Testament. 
When taxed with the flagrant inconsistency, his only 
reply was, that nowhere was there to be found such 
morality as in the Bible. We thank the deist for this 
confession. Whatever our scorn of a man who could 
be guilty of so foul a dishonesty, seeking to sweep 
from the earth a volume to which all the while he 



TRUE MORALITY. 180 

himself has recurred for the principles of education, 
we thank him for his testimony. The morality of 
the Scriptures is a morality not elsewhere to be found ; 
so that, if there w^ere no Bible, there would be com- 
paratively no source of education in duties and virtues, 
whose neglect and decline would dislocate the happi- 
ness of human society. The deist was right. Deny 
or question the Divine origin of the Scriptures, and, 
nevertheless, you must keep the volume as a kind of 
text-book of moralitv." 



MISCELLANEOUS 



MISCELL^:^^EOXJS. 



o R A T I o X.* 



[A Discourse supposed to be Spoken by a Member of the 
American Senate against the following Motion.] 

"Whereas, Louis Kossuth, ever since he landed in America, 
has employed himself in collecting large sums of money, 
in providing arms, military equipments, and in issuing 
Hungarian bonds, with the avowed object of stirring 
up war against a State with which we are in amity and 
alliance ; And whereas, the Austrian Ambassador has 
formally remonstrated with our Government against 
this permitted breach of international good faith, it is 
moved that the Senate respectfully call on the President 
to intimate to Monsieur Kossuth, that he cannot be 
suffered thus to abuse the national hospitality, but 
must forthwith discontinue these practices, or quit the 
territory of the United States." 

Mr. Speakek, 

Before making any allusion to the arguments 
which have been employed in favour of the motion 
noAv before the House, I v^ish to state my conviction, 

* Written at the close of the Logic Class, April, 18-52. 
O 



194 MISCELLANEOUS. 

that to present and to attempt to carry one so clearly 
opposite to the sentiments of the people as this, is very 
far from what is proper in a representative govern- 
ment. The Members of this House have been chosen 
to represent, and are, by the conditions of their 
election, bound to represent their several consti- 
tuencies. These constituencies we find are almost 
unanimous in their expression of sympathy with 
Kossuth ; and, therefore, I look upon this motion, not 
so much as opposed to that illustrious stranger, as to 
our own constituencies, of which we profess to be the 
representatives. Because the majority of the Ameri- 
can people choose to abet him, I feel myself con- 
strained not to favour a motion at variance with their 
expressed sentiments. 

But, even supposing that only a minority sympa- 
thised with him, I would oppose this motion. I would 
be ashamed of the American people if only a minority 
did so, but of that minority I would feel proud ; with 
that minority I would co-operate; that minority, to 
the best of my ability, I would represent. But the 
majority — nay, if popular demonstrations amount to 
anything, the almost entire population of these States 
acquiesce in the principles and projects of the ex- 
Governor of Hungary. And this, though it does not 
make my vote more decided than a minority would, 
enables me to give it with more cheerfulness and 
confidence. As a representative of the American 



ORATION. 1 



)JiJ 



people, and in submission to the principles of fidelity 
to the trust reposed in me, I shall give my vote against 
this motion. 

The honourable gentleman who preceded me sup- 
ported the motion, because he maintained the doctrine 
of non-intervention. Now, because I maintain the 
same doctrine, I oppose it. He said that, to permit 
Louis Kossuth to receive monies and means of any 
kind, with a view to resuming war in Hungary, was 
to lend ourselves to an interference with the domestic 
affairs of another State, and thus violate the principle 
of non-intervention. Now, let us remember the cause 
which Kossuth represents. His country was an inde- 
pendent kingdom, but Austria has made it a subject 
province. When she strove with Austria, it was as 
America strove with England ; not aiming to establish 
new rights, nor setting up new pretensions, but simply 
defending against encroachment old liberties, and, for 
security of these, seeking new guarantees. 

We say it is wrong to interfere with a nation's 
domestic affairs — and this Austria has done; bet 
right to interfere with those who do — and this 
Kossuth is doing. Non-intervention has respect to 
the prevention of wrong, not to the enforcement of 
right; and the best evidence that we or any others 
can furnish of our attachment to that doctrine, is to 
facilitate the punishment of those who have set it 
at nought. Even although the American govern- 



1 9 6 MISCELLANEOUS. 

merit took up the cause of Hungary, Austria could 
not consistently charge it with its own crime; and 
if it had that measure of effrontery, it could not 
bring home to us a breach of non-intervention, 
since our assumption of hostility was for the purpose 
of restoring, to the rightful owners, that which had 
been plundered by a violent and illegal interference. 
For the American people to assist Kossuth in his 
projects is to exercise that freedom which they did 
in the case of insurrectionary Ireland, and which 
they do in the case of any foreign ecclesiastic who 
may come to solicit subscriptions in behalf of some 
religious purpose. And how very inconsistent would 
it be vfhen a missionary of freedom comes — when a 
sufferer for non-intervention comes — -when a confessor 
of those very political truths upon which our national 
constitution is based, and which have their source 
and sanction in the inspired oracles — when the re- 
presentative of a great and noble, though oppressed 
nation comes — ^how very inconsistent, I say, would 
it be to impede his movements, to repress his 
solicitations, to prevent him from accepting those 
donations v/hich the citizens of a free state may 
freely give, and the champion of free principles may 
worthily receive ! 

And Avhy this inconsistency in the case of Kossuth ? 
It may give rise to a war with Austria ! Well, 
if it may, let it. This same America, which, with 



ORATION. HJ7 

but a small part of its present population, measured 
arms with England, and that, too, with success, may 
well encounter the dangers resulting from a Avar 
with imbecile Austria ! What is Austria ? A cabinet^ 
not a people : a dependent upon allies, not upon 
her own resources ; and to be afraid of a war with 
such a power is, indeed, to indulge in those childish 
tremors that are common in the nursery at the 
mention of a ghost. I do not fear such a war. 
Indeed, I do not fear war, in any case, so much as I 
hate it. But there are occasions when, while it still 
continues confessedly an evil, it must be reckoned a 
necessary one. The war of independence was such 
an occasion. The sin of Avar is not the sin of those 
Avho defend the right, or those who avenge the Avrong. 
The aggressor is the transgressor. On his soul lies 
the sin, as on his head should fall the punishment. 
When a nation rises in behalf of liberty, and pours 
the vials of its wrath upon the tyrant ; Avhen, either 
to defend ancient rights or remove ancient AA^ongs, 
it bathes its SAVord in the blood of those Avho AA^ould 
debar it, it, to my mind, appears the righteous 
minister of a righteous God, in the execution of 
eternal and immutable justice. Be to Austria the 
consequences of her own misdeeds ! We Americans 
cannot congratulate her on her late achievements — 
cannot fraternise Avith her on her treatment of 
Hungary; for to do so Avould be virtually to recant 



198 I^nSCELLANEOUS. 

our own principles — would be to tarnish our tra- 
ditional renown — would be to condemn the con- 
victions and conflicts of our forefathers — would be 
to approve that centralising policy in recoil from 
which the population of these States sprang into 
independence. Shall we prefer amity with Austria 
to alliance with Kossuth*? Shall we prefer peace 
with the oppressor, or sympathy and co-operation 
with the oppressed ? Oh no ! for that would be to 
relinquish those distinctive sentiments which made 
and maintained America great, glorious, and free — 
would be, in the face of mankind, and without any 
but the most contemptible cause, to resile voluntarily, 
pusillanimously, from that eminence amongst the 
nations, to which Providence has raised her, as an 
example to all oppressed nations, during all times, 
of how freedom may be won, and of what freedom 
is, when enjoyed. 



199 



REVIEW — WORKS OF FICTION.* 

"ISy Elizabeth Wetherell. London : 1853. 

The plea, sometimes urged, that works of fiction 
are objectionable in themselves, or on the ground of 
principle^ is one, we think, that cannot be fairly or 
legitimately held. Every lie is no doubt a fiction, 
but all fictions are not, in the same sense, lies. As 
well may we aver that all the attempts to imitate 
nature, such as are put forth in sculpture, painting, 
poetry, &c., are fictitious, and ought to be abandoned, 
inasmuch as these have all a common origin, being 
alike the product of imagination or the ideal faculty. 
The binding principle of the whole is not the unreal. 
We should rather say it is the very opposite. Ficti- 
tious wi'iting may be regarded as simply one of the 
imitative arts — an endeavour to copy humanity in 
its varied and varying aspects of character and 
condition. To take high ground here, and to place 
all works of this description under the ban as wrong 

* Written for the Montrose Street Young Men's Society Magaz'ne, 
* March, 1853. 



200 MISCELLANEOUS. 

in principle, would not only be to unshelf much of 
our first-class English literature, but to cast reflection 
on the wisdom of Inspiration itself, inasmuch as 
we have examples not a few of Divine teaching 
in the form of fictitious or ideal narrative. 

If any, however, abandoning the plea of unlawful- 
ness to write or read a book of this class, say that 
they are conscientious abstainers, because of prevalent 
abuse and the dangers connected with the license, 
then we are not careful to shake or alter their resolve. 
Let them be Teetotallers in this if they choose, onl?/, 
let them state clearly the reasons of their hesitancy, 
and not occupy untenable ground. So far from 
not having some sympathy with the conscientious 
abstainer in his doubts, there is a dual caveat, we 
conceive, that ought always to accompany the license. 

The first is, if you read fiction at all, read sparingly. 
This description of reading belongs to that class that 
may be called stimulants, and therefore not to be 
too frequently or freely used. Indulgence here is 
about as deleterious to the vigorous, healthful growth 
of the mind, as alcoholic indulgences are in reference 
to the body. Such things were never intended for 
daily bread. Imagination is a very noble faculty, 
and merits careful culture, as do all the other mental 
powers ; but we may not forget that its legitimate 
place amongst the mental capabilities is specially the 
ornamental ; so that to seek to mature and enrich it 



REVIEW. 201 

at the expense of the other powers, is to look at 
the mere colouring^ and not at the darability and texture 
of your cloth. The true theory of a complete educa- 
tion or soul-growth is undoubtedly this — the simul- 
taneous and orderly development of all the faculties, 
— mental, moral, and religious — by the seasonable 
provision of aliment prepared for and adapted to 
each. "A craving, therefore, after imaginative ex- 
citement, or a passion for living ever in the region 
of the ideal, must tend to damage and retard both 
mental and spiritual progress, unfitting and in- 
disposing, as such a state of feeling does, for more 
vigorous, bracing, and healthful endeavours. 

The second caveat that should accompany the license 
to peruse works of this class is, be select in, as 
well as sparing of, what you read. This counsel 
applies to all reading, but it especially merits attention 
here. TTlio needs to be told that in this department 
of literature, in the shape of circulating libraries, &c., 
there exists a perfect continent of trash, and something 
worse, as Carlyle more tersely expresses it, " infinite 
dung " — an Augean stable, putrescent with long heaped 
up abominations, that would task a Hercules not a 
day, but an age, to dislodge, and take nearly the 
waters of a second deluge to float and wash out. It is 
therefore neither wise nor safe to make an indis- 
criminate sally into a region of fiction such as this — to 
become a pearl diver in such an ocean of mud. True 



202 MISCELLANEOUS. 

it is, there is no natural antagonism betwixt morality 
and imagination. Each, like a parallel straight line, 
keeps its distance, having an aim and object of its 
own ; but it is not so in fact. The heart being un- 
scrupulous and corrupt, imagination obeys the sum- 
mons of the will, commits a trespass on the precincts 
sacred to virtue, becomes ancillary to vice, and throws 
around its grossest deformities her witcheries of 
beauty and varied enchantments. Random reading 
here is, therefore, profitless and perilous, and, for both 
these reasons, we would say, he select in your reading. 
Judicious counsel, especially on the part of the young, 
ought both to be sought and taken ; for while the 
culture of the imagination is an object of interest and 
desire, there is something more important still — the 
culture and improvement of the heart. The pleasures 
of imaginative culture are evanescent, but for a season 
— those of heart-culture are a spring of life, are 
eternal. 

Nor does this remark, in being select in the choice 
of books of this order, apply only to books of a doubt- 
ful or immoral tendency, but to everything insipid, 
extravagant, or unprofitable, even were it avowedly 
religious. Those who seek to be ranked as religious 
novelists no doubt mean well, but there is something 
else required here than mere good intention, and mere 
human genius to boot. 

We hear much at the present day about the need 



HE VIEW. 1'03 

of religious education being combined with the secular; 
but some require to be informed that something besides 
the teaching of a creed is necessary — that religion has 
a spirit as well as a letter, so that it cannot be rightly 
taught without a truhf religious agent. The same 
remark a[)plies to all writers on the subject of religion. 
If authors do not know what is meant by religion, nor 
have experienced the living thing in themselves, how 
can they do otherwise than fail in the portraiture they 
give of it ? For our part, we would much rather have 
the lively merely moral pictures of a Dickens, who lets 
religion alone, than we would have the sickly senti- 
mental vapouring of many who aim higher, but whose 
inspiration, it is but too evident, is drawn from their 
own spirit. Fine pictures of the religion of nature 
may be given, as in the '' Lights and Shadows of 
Scottish Life," by Wilson ; but the soul recast in a 
heavenly mould, and coming forth in new spiritual 
lineaments, they can neither comprehend nor conceive^ 
whatever the reach of their genius. 

AVe cordially concur in the remark of Dr. Arnold, 
that it is not so much the lack of religious topics that 
we desiderate in our everyday literature, as common 
topics treated in a religious way. It is remarked of 
Edmund Burke, that the imaginative faculty in him 
was so strong that he could not touch figures, even in 
the way of casting up an account, without some of 
its radiance being emitted. So is it in religion. It is 



204 MISCELLANEOUS. 

a spirit that runs through all the commonest acts and 
offices of life, and it imparts dignity to the most menial 
services. In vain, therefore, do we seek a change in 
our literature until the " high priests of letters " (as 
thej proudly call themselves) submit to a higher 
inspiration than their own, and become, in the true 
sense, a " spiritual priesthood ;" and, like the pious 
Cowper, discern that 

''' A glory gilds the sacred page, 
Majestic as the sun," 

And that its " precepts and promises afford a sanc- 
tifying light." Religion is a new light as well as a 
new feeling, and for this no type of genius can be 
a substitute. Hence it follows, that a change in our 
literature, in this respect, must become personal or 
individual, before it becomes national. It is the law 
of nature that " water cannot rise higher than its 
source;" and, as Thomas Binney has admirably shown 
in a recent treatise, the laws of the spiritual king- 
dom are as uniform as the laws of the natural, so 
that were a man of mere genius to produce a truly 
religious worlc^ it could be viewed in no other light 
than that of a miracle. A counterfeit he might pro- 
duce, a reality he could not. 

These observations have been more extended than 
we had intended, yet we consider that they are not 
inappropriate to the object we have in view, viz., to 



REVIEAV. 205 

iritrodiice to the notice of the reader the new work, 
by an American lady, entitled, '' The Wide, Wide 
World." 

The work before us, as the reader will have an- 
ticipated, belongs to what is usually called the novel 
class, and is one of the very few that deserves the 
name religious. We have risen from the perusal with 
unmingled satisfaction and delight. We think it every 
way worthy of being placed on the same shelf with 
•'Uncle Tom," and we have no doubt of its becoming 
a favourite, particularly in religious households. Such 
works as these mark something like a new era in our 
religious literature, and this too originating on the 
other side of the Atlantic. ''The Wide, Wide World" 
we think very much a faultless book of its kind. 
Whatever Miss Wetherell has attempted, she has 
really done, and done admirably. It is particularly 
adapted to the young, for whose benefit it seems to 
have been principally intended ; and there is this con- 
venience that we do not find in '• Uncle Tom," that 
you can with freedom put it into the hands of the 
veriest child, as the language of profanity finds no 
])lace in it, while a high religious aim and object run 
unobtrusively through the entire performance like a 
thread of gold. 

The high moral or rather Christian drift of the book 
is tlie marvellous working of a gracious Providence 
towards an only child, that has enjoyed but for a brief 



206 MISCELLANEOUS. 

season the teacliing and the prayerful solicitude of a 
devoted, pious mother, from whom she comes to be 
finally and painfully separated, and left a stranger in 
the ''Wide, Wide World." The seed early sown, 
amid tears and watchings, in the young heart, dies not, 
but is in due time quickened into spiritual life — a life 
which, though frequently and sorely tested, alike amid 
sunshine and shade, keeps root and grows, "all 
things," according to the promise, " working together 
for good " The power of Christian love overcomes 
everything, and one of the most difficult lessons in 
Christian ethics, early instilled, " Overcome evil wdth 
good," is beautifully learned and brightly exemplified. 

The little heroine of the piece is Helen Montgomery, 
an exquisite darling, whose fortunes through the wide 
world you follow with unflagging interest. Mrs. 
Montgomery, her excellent mother, falling into delicate 
health, it is decided that, in company with her hus- 
band, she seek its restoration in a more genial clime, 
while the only daughter (the angustce res necessitating 
it) must remain behind under strange guardianship, 
that of her paternal aunt, a real, thorough worldly- 
wise woman, whose name is JMiss Fortune — a sad, 
sad change from a mother's love to such a child ! It 
is not easy by any extract to convey an idea of the 
artist's skill in the varied incidents introduced, as well 
as in the grouping of the different characters. The 
following are average specimens of the easy, simple 



RtVlEW. 207 

elegance of the general style. As an example of the 
authoress's povv-ers in describing natural scenery, when 
this comes in her way, read as follows : — 

*' Thej had bright lights on the lawn. The stars began to 
peep out through the soft bhie, and as the blue grew deeper, 
they came out more and brighter, till all heaven was hung 
with lamps. But that was not all. In the eastern horizon, 
just above the low hills that bordered the far side of the plain, 
a white light spreading, and growing, and brightening, pro- 
mised the moon, and promised that she vrould rise Aery 
splendid; and even before she came, began to throv/ a faint 
lustre over the landscape. Ail eyes were fastened and excla- 
mations burst, as the first silver edge showed itself, and the 
moon, rapidly rising, looked on them with her whole broad 
bright face, lighting up not only their faces and figures, but 
the wide country view that was spread out below, and touching 
most beautifully the trees in the edge of the gap, and faintly 
the lawn ; while the wall of wood stood in deeper and blacker 
shadow than ever." 

Among the various characters introduced, world- 
lings and Christians, that of Miss Fortune, we take 
it, is drawn to the life : — 

*' ' If you're so tired of being idle,' — said this obliging per- 
sonage to her niece, on one occasion, after some lamentation, 
on Ellen's part, over the non-fulfilment of pui'poses of self- 
improvement and study, by which she had meant to surprise 
and delight her mamma on her return — 'If you're so tired of 
being idle, I'll warrant I'll give you something to do, and 
something to learn, too, that you v.ant enough — more than all 



208 MISCELLANEOUS. 

those criiikum crankums. I wonder what good they'd ever do 
you ! That's the way your mother was brought up, I suppose ! 
If she had been trained to use her hands, and do something 
useful, instead of thinking herself above it, maybe she wouldn't 
have had to go to sea for her health just now ; it doesn't do 
for women to be book-worms.' " 

Again : — 

" Miss Fortune very, very seldom was known to take a bit 
from her own comforts to add to those of another. The ruling 
passion of this lady was thrift ; her next, good housewifery. 
First, to gather to herself, and heap up of what the world most 
esteems ; after that, to be known as the most thorough house- 
keeper, and the smartest woman in Thirlwall." 

Our limits will onlj admit of another quotation, 
which will serve to evince the fine religious vein 
that pervades the work, yet it must not be inferred 
that there is too much of the grave, inasmuch as 
the grave and gay are beautifully blended : — 

*' Very well, when a child of God lives as he ought to do, 
people cannot help having high and noble thoughts of that 
glorious One whom he serves, and of that perfect law he obeys. 
Little as they may love the ways of leligion in their own secret 
hearts, they cannot help confessing that there is a God, and 
that they ought to serve him. But a worldling, and still more 
an unfaithful Christian, just helps people to forget there is 
such a Being, and makes them think either that rehgion is a 
sham, or that they may safely go on despising it. I have 
heard it said, Ellen, that Christians are the only Bible some 



REVIEW. 209 

people ever read ; and it is true. All they know of religion is 
what they get from the lives of its professors ; and, oh ! were 
the world full of the right kind of example, the kingdom of 
darkness could not stand. * Arise, shine !' is a word that every 
Christian ought to take home." 

We may mention further here, that there are many 
lively quotations prefixed to each chapter from various 
English poets ; while, in the contents, there is a key- 
note to each, briefly and tersely framed from the 
leading incidents introduced, as well as many choice 
hymns interspersed throughout the work itself, which 
enliven and heighten the interest. 

Our authoress has taken good care not to represent 
Ellen as a faultless child. AYe think this an objection 
fairly applicable to " Uncle Tom's" Eva, who is much 
too good, too angelic, for this world, without any of 
the old iVdam in her that we can discover. .Ellen, on 
the contrary, although possessing an exceedingly ten- 
der conscience, that sadly punishes her when she does 
wrong, has a temper of her own, naturally proud and 
impatient under crosses and neglect; but, by watch- 
fulness and prayer, this enemy of her peace and 
progress is gi'adually subdued and kept under, through 
the mellowing that Divine grace only can effect. 

One of the great charms of the book, we would say, 
is its perfect naturalness, and the absence of extrava- 
gance, so much so, that you soon lose sight of the 
fact that you are perusing what is fictitious ; while a 

p 



210 MISCELLANEOUS. 

healthful moral and religious feeling is maintained 
throughout. Many, we conceive, will read the work 
for the sake of the artist ; others will be drawn to it 
as a work of high entertainment ; while a third party 
will hail it as a beautiful expounder of the heavenly 
and Divine. We have seen no better answer to the 
question, ''Is it possible to make the best of both 
worlds ? " than is here given. And not only so, but it 
shows, at the same time, that a proper attention to the 
interests of the next world, and getting a true hold of 
its provisions, is often the secret of success in this. 
Ellen lost nothing by her religion. On the con- 
trary, it was the power that wrought out for her the 
highest and rarest accomplishments, with nothing 
awanting ; and all this in circumstances the opposite 
of promising. 

Some might perhaps object to this performance, that 

the child-prattle, however engaging, is occasionally a 

little too minute ; but to the juniors, for whose benefit 

it is mainly intended, this may probably constitute one 

of its chief attractions. Some might further object 

that the lahial service bestowed on our little heroine is 

a little too much ; but as these ocular demonstrations 

are matters of taste, and probably American, we must 

not scan too narrowly such love-offerings, especially 

when served up with elegance by a highly-gifted and 

accomplished female, and in the view of so much 

excellence. 



REVIEW. 211 

In fine, we would advise the reader, after laying 
down Thomas Binney's masterly treatise on ^' Is it 
possible to make the best of both worlds?" in which 
that new phasis of infidelity, called '' Secularism," is 
torn out, with easy strength, by the roots clean, to take 
up "The Wide, Wide World." It will be a relaxation 
to the calm and patient thought required for the 
perusal of the other work, while it will serve to 
illustrate and verify its important and great con- 
clusion, that " Godliness is profitable unto all things, 
having promise of the life that now is, and of that 
which is to come." Parents solicitous to have their 
offspring truli/ and thoroughly educated for this world 
and the next, could not, we conceive, confer a greater 
kindness upon their sons and daughters, than to place 
these volumes within their reach — the one the philo- 
sophy, the other the illustration, of " Hoiv it is possible 
to make the best of both worlds." 



March 2m, 1853. 



212 



MISSIONARY ADDRESS.* 



Mr. Chairman, &c. 

As a member of the Juvenile Missionary 
Society, I have been requested to make a few remarks 
on the subject of Christian missions, selecting any 
aspect or aspects of the subject I may think proper. In 
a field so extensive and familiar as this opens up, our 
difficulty is where to begin, how to proceed, and where 
to end ; and yet this very inconvenience that we feel 
is matter of congratulation. The time has not long 
gone by when missions had all the interest of novelty 
thrown around them. We trust that this period has 
passed never to return. Had the church rightly un- 
derstood and always done her duty, the word novelty 
would never have been heard of on such a subject. It 
is, therefore, well, and one of the most auspicious 
signs of progress, that this question is " familiar " to 
most of us " as household words." What is now 
required is not so much doctrine and discussion, 

* Prepared for Montrose Street U. P. Congregational Missionary Society, 

1854. 



MISSIONARY ADDRESS. Zl6 

bearing on general principles, as united action, and 
persevering onward movement. Both from the pulpit 
and the press, the truth on this subject has been told 
us with fulness and power, so that any one who has 
not passed the alphabet cannot be said to be a very 
apt scholar in learning the lesson of " Good will to 
men," nor can he lay claim to the merit of a creditable 
ignorance. 

There are three aspects of Christian missions exceed- 
ingly important, and in which they might be con- 
sidered with advantage. 

The first we may call geographical, the second pro- 
videntialj and the third prophetical. To attempt to 
discuss the subject fully in each of these aspects would 
occupy too much of your time. We must, therefore, 
aim at little else than short notes, or albeit a running 
commentary. 

Geographical discovery has, in a remarkable degree, 
subserved the cause of missions. It has not only 
pointed out to us the various habitations of men, but 
has furnished accurate information regarding their 
numbers, condition, and character. Here we learn that 
the outward features of the surface of our globe are not 
more diversified than are the varied types of humanity. 
There is one respect, however, in Avhich they all agree, 
viz., their moral pravity, and their utter alienation 



214 MISCELLANEOUS. 

fi'om the worship and service of God. Consciences 
they may have, that make them tremble before the 
imaginary god of storms; but these consciences are 
sunk and overborne by their selfish and unrestrained 
passions. The religious sense or capacity they have 
in common, but it is under the sway of a brutish ima- 
gination ; and hence they bow down to stocks and to 
stones — deify the elements of nature, or worship the 
works of their own hands. Thus it is, that in seeking 
and finding out an accurate map of the outward 
surface, we have had presented to us another map, 
revealing the moral and religious features of the whole, 
and these features dark and repulsive exceedingly. 
To speak of this state of things as a moral waste, a 
region of desolation, a wilderness of barrenness, is 
using figure far short of the reality ; for here the brier 
and the thorn, and every noxious and pestiferous 
growth luxuriate, diffusing their malign influence over 
everything fair and lovely. Such is the certain ascer- 
tained field of missionary enterjDrise and exertion, and 
the grand object is, to bear and apply an antidote to 
all this — we should rather say, the antidote to all this 
— the only antidote that has ever- been found, or ever 
will be found, for the woes and the wants of prostrate 
humanity. 

It is true that some progress has here been made, 
and that we ought to discriminate. This we allow; 
and here, too, we have been furnished with a missionary 



MISSIONARY ADDRESS. 215 

map, showing what portions of the moral waste 
have come under the gospel plough-share. The 
mind, however, is not relieved, but appalled by the 
survey — appalled by the extent of the territory of 
desolation still under the dominion of the Prince of 
Darkness, and by the narrow limits of the reclaimed 
domain. This map we ought frequently and carefully 
to examine, that we may know the reality and the 
magnitude of the work to be done. To shut our 
eyes or ears to these facts, is to shut our hearts to 
one of the most powerful incentives to earnest exertion 
and endeavour. So much, then, for the geographical 
aspect of our subject. 

In saying that it may be viewed providentially^ we 
mean viewed in the light of present providences, as 
far as these may be gathered from the signs of the 
times, or passing events. 

The siorns of the times are ever frau2:ht with interest 
as bearing on missionary enterprise and success. 
And w^hat are any of those signs? It is not our 
object here to enter into detail; but we may be 
allowed to point to two remarkable recent provi- 
dences, that seem charged with important conse- 
quences as regards the prosperity and extension of 
the Messiah's kingdom. These signs are of a very 
opposite character — the one portentously dark ; the 
other joyously promising and auspicious. We refer, 



216 MISCELLANEOUS. 

first, to that dark cloud that has, for some time past, 
been gathering over the face of Europe, and which is 
ready, at length, to burst forth in all the dire conse- 
quences of war. Such a providence as this can only be 
regarded as a fearful calamity, whether viewed in the 
light of time or eternity. While spreading desolation 
abroad, it tends to arrest the progress of the arts, and 
to retard peaceful industry and commerce at home. 
But more than this, it is inimical both directly and 
indirectly to the missionary enterprise, as it is the 
enemy of all goodness and all piety. In the din of 
war, and the excitement of the camp, almost every 
good and great interest is lost sight of. If the mis- 
sionary be not compelled (as sometimes happens) to 
flee from the face of the enemy, he is distracted in his 
labours by the all-absorbing conflict, while the church 
everywhere is exposed to the same temptations and 
dangers ; so that it were easy to show that, to the eye 
of reason and sense, this calamity of ivar that has 
overtaken us must be regarded as a darlc sign in the 
prospect of the extension of the kingdom of Him who 
is '' the Prince of Peace." 

But the signs are not all of this description. There 
is another sign, also toward the East, radiant with 
promise, and betokening good things to come. The 
great partition-wall that has for centuries kept China 
apart from the nations, and within her own enclosure, 
seems now likely to be broken down, and to be laid 



MISSIONARY ADDRESS. 217 

open to spiritual aggression and conquest. This field 
is vast, embracing about a third portion of our world's 
entire population. If a door of entrance be opened 
here, how great should be our rejoicing, and how 
earnest our endeavours to embrace the opportunity of 
admission. 

That opportunity is now presented, and has been 
pressed upon our attention. The question is. What 
have I done, or have I done anything, to aid that 
liberal device of sending the Word of Life to those 
ignorant perishing millions of human beings ? 

Great indeed will be the victoiy when the standard 
of the cross is erected in that vast territory. Would 
that the hope here that now beats high in the bosom 
of the church may be fully and speedily realised ! 

This leads us to notice the most pleasing and de- 
lightful of all the aspects of our subject, we mean the 
prophetical. 

Turning from the present to the future, the mind 
seeks repose in the " sure word of prophecy." What- 
ever clouds and darkness may intervene, we know 
that the bright sunshine shall succeed, and that this 
cause shall ultimately triumph. The manner in whicli 
the issue is described by the prophet is beautifully 
figurative, but no one may say that the description 
exceeds tlie reality, or is in any sense exaggerated. 



218 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Such a supposition would be to question the perfect 
truthfulness of the holy oracles. Guided, then, by 
the star of prophecy, the eye rests on a state of things 
the most attractive and joyful. Now, the scene is a 
vast wilderness of barrenness, " a drear interminable 
waste," an immense desert of sand, where all vegeta- 
tion sickens and dies. Behold the transformation and 
change that have been wrought on this scene of un- 
broken sterility ! Elvers of water have broken out, 
and now flow in this dry place. The clouds have 
collected, and on every side have sent down their 
watery stores. The face of nature shows signs of 
renewal under the fertilising shower. Vegetation has 
thrown its green covering over the entire region of 
barrenness. Nay, it has become a paradise of varied 
floral loveliness. The wilderness now blooms and 
blossoms like the rose. Or, take another of the figures 
of the sacred oracles depicting this scene. The woods 
and wilds are infested with beasts of prey, which, 
coming forth from their dens, inspire with no ground- 
less fears the flocks and herds that are grazing in 
the meadow, which flee from the lion and the bear 
as their natural enemies thirsting for their blood. Is 
it possible to change these instincts, dissipate these 
fears, and restore mutual confldence ? The thing is 
possible. Nay, it is even so. This scene of terror 
and blood is changed into one of living confidence — tlie 



MISSIONARY ADDRESS. 219 

lion and the lamb — the leopard and the kid — the cow 
and the bear — are all feeding and herding in peaceful 
harmony. 

Such are some of the beautiful figurative representa- 
tions of the ultimate success that shall in due time 
crown the missionary enterprise; and that certainly 
will be a wondrous moral renovation, a marvellous 
spiritual transformation, that will present the living 
picture of all this. But thus it shall be. "Israel" is 
destined " to blossom, and bud, and fill the face of the 
world with fruit." The myrtle and the fir shall come 
up in room of the brier and lacerating thorn — fruit- 
fulness shall come up in the room of spiritual barren- 
ness — beauty, in the place of spiritual deformity — 
peace, in the room of war and opposition — love and 
concord, in the place of enmity, jealousy, and distrust. 
Nor will this peaceful reign continue for a brief space. 
We have reason to believe that it will last a thousand 
blissful years. " Men shall then be blessed in Him ; 
all nations then shall call Him blessed." This is to 
be the issue ; and how relieving and cheering such a 
consummation, in the present view of so much that 
fills the mind with perplexity and fear ! 

We are told, too, that we are to have a millennium 
of the sciences, and this ere long — that we are fast 
approaching the ne plus ultra of terrestrial knowledge 
— that the sciences, like a regiment of soldiers, are 



220 MISCELLANEOUS. 

coming up rank and file, after a necessary and ordained 
order of progress, and all to be crowned with a reign 
of justice, by having politics mapped as one of the 
sciences. However this may be as regards a mil- 
lennium of the sciences — that is, to have all sublunary 
truth clearly and indisputably mapped out to the eye 
of reason — we confess we have no confidence in anv 
reign of justice that is separated from the spiritual ; 
for men must not only see the right, but must have the 
heart to do it, and this disposition can only be effected 
by the spiritual reign secured by superhuman agency. 

But how, it may be asked, is this prediction or 
promise to be realised? What are the means or 
instrumentality by which this end is to be reached? 
Are we to expect a repetition of the miracles of 
primitive times, when Christianity made such progress 
in spite of all opposition, and by weak instruments ? 
We have no reason to look for this. The right view 
of the subject, we think, is, that no such interventions 
will take place. Something new there will be, but 
that something will be new-born zeal, and self-denial, 
and energy, and prayer, on the part of the church, 
such as will call down influences from on high in more 
than Pentecostal effusion. Then the evidences for the 
truth of Christianity, instead of being dimned or 
weakened through lapse of years, will be seen to have 
gradually acquired overwhelming force ; and the most 



MISSIONARY ADDRESS. 221 

convincing of all these evidences will be seen in the 
fi'uits of the Spirit, in the love and united bearing of 
the church, which will then look out from amid the 
darkness that has so long marked her course — in 
beauty, '^ fair as the moon," in evidence, " clear as the 
sun," and in aggressive majesty, *' terrible as an army 
with banners." 



M'CORQUODALE AND CO., PRINTERS, GLASGOW AND LONDON. 



